“No, sir,” she said, with her eyes lighting up, and a pleasant look softening her face; “I only feel grieved and pained to see the bonnie, handsome boy, who I always thought would naturally be my dear Miss Claude’s husband, drifting away to wreck like one of the ships we often see.”
“Silence, woman!” cried Chris. “For God’s sake don’t talk like that!”
“I will not, sir, if you tell me not,” said Sarah quietly; “but I think you deal hard with poor Miss Claude for what she cannot help.”
“What?”
“She has tried to do her duty—that I know.”
“Yes,” he said bitterly; “every one seems to have tried to do his or her duty by me.”
There was a dead silence, during which the woman stood gazing at him wistfully, and more than once her lips moved, and her hand played restlessly about her shawl, as if she wanted to lay it upon his arm, and say something comforting to one who appeared so lonely and cast out.
“Miss Claude is coming home on Friday, sir,” she said at last; and she saw the fervour of hope and joy which beamed from the young man’s eyes—only to be clouded over directly, as he said bitterly—
“Well, she has a right to. What is it to me?”
“Mr Chris!”