The brief
reply was broken by a sob.
"That canna be," persisted Malcolm, trouble of whose own had never
yet rendered him indifferent to that of another. "Is 't onything
'at a body cun stan' by ye in?"
Another sob was the only answer.
"I'm in a peck o' troubles mysel'," said Malcolm. "I wad fain help
a body gien I cud."
"Naebody can help me," returned the girl, with an agonized burst,
as if the words were driven from her by a convulsion of her inner
world, and therewith she gave way, weeping and sobbing aloud. "I
doobt I'll hae to droon mysel'," she added with a wail, as he stood
in compassionate silence, until the gust should blow over; and as
she said it she lifted a face tear stained, and all white, save where
five fingers had branded their shapes in red. Her eyes scarcely
encountered his; again she buried her face in her hands, and rocked
herself to and fro, moaning in fresh agony.
"Yer mither's been sair upo' ye, I doobt!" he said. "But it'll sune
blaw ower. She cuils as fest 's she heats."
As he spoke he set himself down on the sand beside her. But Lizzy
started to her feet, crying,
"Dinna come near me, Ma'colm. I'm no fit for honest man to come
nigh me. Stan' awa'; I hae the plague."
She laughed, but it was a pitiful laugh, and she looked wildly
about, as if for some place to run to.
"I wad na be sorry to tak it mysel', Lizzy. At ony rate I'm ower
auld a freen' to be driven frae ye that gait," said Malcolm, who
could not bear the thought of leaving her on the border of the
solitary sea, with the waves barking at her all the cold winterly
gloamin'.
Pages:
479
480
481
482
483
484
485
486
487
488
489
490
491
492
493
494
495
496
497
498
499
500
501
502
503