For a time, Christie chatted gayly on various commonplace matters; but, at last, catching her tone from his, she, too, grew silent and thoughtful. She bent lower over her work, wondering if she had offended him, and involuntarily sighed.
He heard it, and said:
"And wherefore that sigh, Christie! Are you unhappy?"
"No not unhappy; but troubled."
"And why should you be troubled, bright one? What can there be to grieve one so fair?"
"I—I—feared I had offended you," she answered, timidly. "You appear out of spirits."
"You offend me, gentle one—you who never offended any one in your life? No, no; it is not that."
"Then you are unhappy," she said, shyly.
"Yes, I am miserable—wretched!" he cried, vehemently. "I wish to Heaven I had never been born!"
"Oh, Mr. Drummond! what has happened!" she cried, laying her hand on his, and looking up wistfully in his face.