Kirsteen: The Story of a Scotch Family Seventy Years AgoOliphant, Mrs. (Margaret)
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Kirsteen: The Story of a Scotch Family Seventy Years Ago
Oliphant, Mrs. (Margaret)
Domestic fiction; Scotland -- Fiction
Kirsteen put a stern negation upon this proposal. “Besides,” she said,
“it would be no advantage, for I am going on to London without delay.”
“To London?” cried the doctor. “That’s a long journey for ye by
yourself. Are you really going alone?”
“I’m told,” said Kirsteen composedly, “that the guards are very
attentive, and that nobody meddles with one that respects herself. I
have no fear.”
“Well, perhaps there is no fear--not what ye can call fear; for, as you
say, a woman is her own best protector, and few men are such fools as to
go too far when there’s no response. But, my dear young lady, it’s a
long journey and a weary journey; I wonder that Drumcarro trusted you to
go alone; he might have spared a maid, if not a man to go with ye.” The
doctor’s weakness led him to enhance the importance of Drumcarro as if
it were a simple matter to send a maid or a man.
“Oh, but Kirsteen says,” Anne began, remembering the strange avowal,
which she did not at all understand, that her sister had made. Kirsteen
took the words out of her mouth.
“It’s not as if I were coming back to-day or to-morrow,” she said
quickly, “and to send any person with me would have been--not
possible--I will just keep myself to myself and nobody will harm me.”
“I am sure of that,” said the doctor cheerfully. “I would not like to be
the man that spoke a word displeasing to ye with those eyes of yours.
Oh, I’m not complaining; for no doubt ye have heard much harm of me and
little good--but ye have given me a look or two, Miss Kirsteen. Does not
this speak for me?” he added, raising Anne’s face which glowed with
pleasure and affection under his touch--“and yon?” pointing to the open
door of the room in which the babies slept.
Kirsteen was much confused by this appeal. “It was far from my mind to
say anything unceevil,” she said, “and in your own house.”
“Oh, never mind my own house, it’s your house when you’re in it. And I
would like ye to say whatever comes into your head, for at the end, do
what you will, my bonny lass, you and me are bound to be friends. Now
come, wifie, and give us our tea.”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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