“You will do that, I know, Michael,” said Nelly, “whatever may happen.”
Michael felt that he should be everything that was bad if he did not, though it did not occur to him to make any great promises of what he would do.
They went on talking cheerfully and happily together, for though Nelly was anxious about her father, she did not yet understand how ill he was.
They procured the articles for which they had been sent, and, laden with them, returned homewards. They were making their way along one of the hedges which divide the fields in that part of Cornwall—not composed of brambles but of solid rock, and so broad that two people can walk abreast without fear of tumbling off—and were yet some distance from the edge of the ravine down which they had to go to their home, when they saw Eban Cowan coming towards them.
“I wish he had gone some other way,” said Nelly. “He is very kind bringing me shells and other things, but, Michael, I do not like him. I do not know what it is, but there is something in the tone of his voice; it’s not truthful like yours and father’s.”
“I never thought about that. He is a bold-hearted, good-natured fellow,” observed Michael. “He has always been inclined to like us, and shown a wish to be friendly.”
“I don’t want to make him suppose that we are not friendly,” said Nelly; “only still—”
She was unable to finish the sentence, as the subject of their conversation had got close up to them.
“Good-day, Nelly; good-day, Michael,” he said, putting out his hand. “You have got heavy loads; let me carry yours, Nelly.”
She, however, declined his assistance.