“However, she had nothing to do with that,” he muttered, apologetically, “and cannot help the peculiarities of her kindred. Gentleness; that is the next quality. A man may mistake motives, but he cannot mistake facts. Her gentleness and sweetness are patent facts, and her modesty is also obvious. Then, she is a Christian. Pedro told me so. She never omits to pray, night and morning. Of course, that does not constitute a Christian, but—well, then the Sabbath-day she has all along respected; and I am almost sure that our regular halts on that day, although ordered by Pedro, were suggested by Manuela. Of course, praying and Sabbath-keeping may be done by hypocrites, and for a bad end; but who, save a consummately blind idiot, would charge that girl with hypocrisy? Besides, what could she gain by it all? Pshaw! the idea is ridiculous. Of course there are many more good qualities which I might enumerate, but these are the most important and clearly pronounced—very clearly.”
He said this very decidedly, for somehow a counteracting suggestion came from somewhere, reminding him that he had twice saved the Indian girl’s life; that he had tried with earnest devotion to help and amuse her in all their journeyings together, and that to be totally indifferent about final separation in these circumstances argued the absence of even ordinary gratitude, which is clearly one of the Christian virtues!
“But, after all,” he muttered, indignantly, “would not any young fellow have done the same for any woman in the circumstances? And why should she care about parting from me? I wouldn’t care much about parting from myself just now, if I could. There, now, that’s an end o’ the matter. She’ll go back to the wigwam of her father, and I’ll go and have a jolly good splitting gallop across the Pampas with Pedro and Quashy.”
“Dat’s just de bery best t’ing what you can do, massa.”
Lawrence turned round abruptly, and found that his faithful servant was hurrying after him, and grinning tremendously.
“Why, you’re always laughing, Quash,” said the youth, a little sharply.
“O massa!” exclaimed the negro, turning his mouth the other way. “I’s nebber laugh no more if you don’ like it.”
“Like it, my good fellow!” exclaimed Lawrence, himself giving way to a short laugh to conceal his feelings, “of course I like it, only you came on me unexpectedly, and, to say truth, I am—”
“Still out ob sorts, massa?”
“Yes, that’s it—exactly.”