“Only the first chapter,” I said. “I was charmed by the title, which recalled to me my dear Miss Turnor.”
She said no more, but after she had left the cabin again I missed the book. When she returned, I had climbed to my shelf, and was, I fear, feigning sleep, but she came and whispered to me—
“I have asked your Fraser about the divine Araminta, and he confesses to the truth. But such a sweet pretty name! Why did you not tell it me, miss? And how do you like the thought of playing Araminta to Araminta’s humble adorer? ’Twill be as good as a play for us who look on.”
With that she left me, and I won’t grieve my Amelia’s tender heart by telling her how I spent the hours of that night. But I must close this huge letter, and tell you more of my misfortunes in the next.
CHAPTER III.
IN WHICH MISS FREYNE ENTERS CALCUTTA, BUT NOT IN TRIUMPH.
Hon. Co.’s Ship Orford, Hoogly River, Sept. ye 2nd.
My last letter to my Amelia was finished writing in the roadstead of Madrass, where our vessel was lying, but now I am got so far in my voyage that I can date this almost within sight of Culpee,[01] at which place all we passengers leave the Orford, and embark in smaller boats to perform the concluding stage of our journey. But remembering where I left off, I know that my dearest friend will be in the most cruel anxiety for her Sylvia’s peace of mind, and I hasten, now that we have fairly left the ocean behind us, to satisfy her concern, although I have but little to say that’s agreeable.
Awaking from a troubled sleep on the morning after the shock I have described to you, Amelia, it seemed to me at first that ’twould be well to plead indisposition, and remain below, thus avoiding the performance of the hard task Mr Fraser had laid upon me. But I feared lest he should believe my illness caused by anything he had said, and rose determined to preserve my punctilio jealously, and carry the matter off with a bold face.
“You’re rightly punished, miss,” said I to myself, as I combed my hair. “You have pleased yourself imagining that the gentleman sought your company for your own sake, and now you find that he regarded you but as in some sort a picture of his Araminta. You was a silly creature to be so taken in, and I hope you’ll be wiser in the future. Pray, miss,” I said to Miss Hamlin, who was watching me from her shelf, “what have you done with my book?”
“Why, miss, I didn’t know ’twas yours. I took it up to look at, and finding it prodigiously dull, carried it back to Mr Fraser. I’m sure I thought it was his.”