“Forgiven!” The girl looked up with a proud glance in her eyes. “Mother, I am ashamed to have thought so much about such a little thing. It was all kindness and good-nature on his part to save me from disappointment, and see how I returned it! When he wanted to explain, we would not even listen, or allow him the opportunity of setting himself right. And now,” she added passionately, “he comes and saves our lives, and so he is to be forgiven! Mother, you don’t mean that!”
Mrs Lascelles felt more surprise than she showed. In the vehemence of her speaking, Kitty had started up, and her mother laid her hand on her arm and drew her down again to her side. She spoke very quietly; no one knew what a sharp pang preceded her words.
“My dear,” she said, smiling—“my dear, how long have you felt this?”
Kitty looked at her.
“Ever since I knew that we had been unjust,” she said, simply. “I think, almost from the first.”
“Ah!” said Mrs Lascelles, slowly, and still smiling; “and that seems a long while ago, doesn’t it?” Then she stooped and kissed her. “God bless you, my Kitty,” she said, softly and earnestly.
The girl’s eyes brightened.
“Then, mother, you will thank him, and not talk any more about forgiving?”
“No; that is certainly past,” said Mrs Lascelles, still slowly; “and, as you say, I must thank him—as well as I can. I suppose,” she added, following a little irresistible impulse, “that the curé could have taken his place?”
“No,” said Kitty, earnestly, “no. Stevan told me himself that the curé had not the strength. ‘If it had not been for the English gentleman, mademoiselle, the boat might not have weathered it.’ Those were his very words.”