“Alas!” he said; “how shall I exist—how bear this separation for twelve long months? Oh, divine Kitty! Thou will remain an ever-present idea in my heart.”
“Harry,” she burst out laughing in her tears, “think of the learned Boethius!”
So he left her.
In half an hour another visitor appeared.
This time it was Will. He was in his usual careless disorder; his scarlet coat a good deal stained, his waistcoat unbuttoned, his wig awry, his boots dusty, his neckerchief torn, his hands and cheeks browned by the sun. He carried a horsewhip, and was followed by half-a-dozen dogs, who came crowding into the room after him.
“So,” he said, sitting down and leaning his chin upon his whipstock, “thou must go, then?”
“What do you want with me, Will?” she asked, angry that he should show so little sympathy.
“Why,” he replied, rubbing his chin with the whipstock, ”not much, Kitty. Nancy will come to cry.”
“Then you can go away, Will.”
“I came to say, Kitty, that though you do be going to go” (Will easily dropped into country talk), “I shanna forget thee. There!”