“Well, Catriona,” said I, “here we are like the king’s sons and the old wives’ daughters in your daft-like Highland tales. Soon we’ll be going over the ‘_seven Bens_, _the seven glens and the seven mountain moors_’.” Which was a common byword or overcome in those tales of hers that had stuck in my memory. “Ah,” says she, “but here are no glens or mountains! Though I will never be denying but what the trees and some of the plain places hereabouts are very pretty. But our country is the best yet.” “I wish we could say as much for our own folk,” says I, recalling Sprott and Sang, and perhaps James More himself. “I will never complain of the country of my friend,” said she, and spoke it out with an accent so particular that I seemed to see the look upon her face. I caught in my breath sharp and came near falling (for my pains) on the black ice. “I do not know what _you_ think, Catriona,” said I, when I was a little recovered, “but this has been the best day yet! I think shame to say it, when you have met in with such misfortunes and disfavours; but for me, it has been the best day yet.” “It was a good day when you showed me so much love,” said she. “And yet I think shame to be happy too,” I went on, “and you here on the road in the black night.” “Where in the great world would I be else?” she cried. “I am thinking I am safest where I am with you.” “I am quite forgiven, then?” I asked. “Will you not forgive me that time so much as not to take it in your mouth again?” she cried. “There is nothing in this heart to you but thanks. But I will be honest too,” she added, with a kind of suddenness, “and I’ll never can forgive that girl.” “Is this Miss Grant again?” said I. “You said yourself she was the best lady in the world.” “So she will be, indeed!” says Catriona. “But I will never forgive her for all that. I will never, never forgive her, and let me hear tell of her no more.” “Well,” said I, “this beats all that ever came to my knowledge; and I wonder that you can indulge yourself in such bairnly whims. Here is a young lady that was the best friend in the world to the both of us, that learned us how to dress ourselves, and in a great manner how to behave, as anyone can see that knew us both before and after.” But Catriona stopped square in the midst of the highway. “It is this way of it,” said she. “Either you will go on to speak of her, and I will go back to yon town, and let come of it what God pleases! Or else you will do me that politeness to talk of other things.” I was the most nonplussed person in this world; but I bethought me that she depended altogether on my help, that she was of the frail sex and not so much beyond a child, and it was for me to be wise for the pair of us.