"Yes," she replied, in English, "my mother was a Scotchwoman, and a Protestant."
"Good heavens! then I am afraid—I am sure—that—in short, I believe that something was said before you came below, that must have been unpleasant—that, indeed, could not but hurt your feelings."
Isabella was extremely agitated, and turned away her head.
"What would I not give," continued he, in a low voice, "what would I not sacrifice, to be able—to be permitted, to assist you in any way."
He stopped, scarcely knowing what he said, or hardly knowing whether he had spoken at all. The poor girl raised her swimming eyes in supplication.
"For heaven's sake! drop this subject; if my uncle knew that you had spoken thus to me, he would carry me back immediately."
"But tell me, dearest lady, tell me, is there no way in which I can be of service to you?"
"No, no, no, leave me; if you have any regard for me, leave me. I thank you for the interest you have shown for me; but it will avail nothing."
The tone of extreme dejection, and melancholy, in which she pronounced these last words, almost drove Morton beside himself. He was completely bewildered with conflicting emotions—a young and beautiful woman, lovely in person and in mind, and, what made her irresistible to an unsophisticated, warm, generous, and feeling heart, in affliction—affliction that seemed more remediless, because not understood by one, nor communicated by the other.
From this situation of mutual embarrassment, they were relieved by the entrance of one of the young ladies, who came to call her cousin into the steerage, to see the wonders already alluded to. Luckily, Carlota, although a good-natured girl, and fond of her cousin Isabella, was not remarkably keen-sighted, or she must have noticed the agitation and embarrassment of both parties.