Scotland -- Social life and customs -- 19th century -- Fiction
This was strange. He looked down on her with sudden respect. For she was
using almost the same words that his mother had spoken often enough when
he had sat beside her bed on those nights when she could not sleep for
the argument of phantom passions in her room, and she opened her eyes
suddenly after having lain with them closed for a time, and found him
grieving for her. "Dear, you must not be so sorry for me. Hold my hand,
but do not feel too sorry for me. It only makes it worse for me. Truly,
I ask for my own sake, not for yours. Do you not see? When all the
ripples have gone from the pond I shall forget I ever threw that
stone...." Was it not strange that this girl, on whose mind the dew was
not yet dry, should speak the same wise words that had been found
fittest by a woman who had been educated by a tragic destiny? But of
course she was as wise as she was beautiful. His thought of Marion
became fatigued and resentful because it had made him forget the marvel
of his Ellen.
"Forgive me," he murmured.
"Of course I forgive you."
"What, before I have told you what it is I want forgiveness for?"
"I have it in my mind I will always forgive you for anything you do."
"That's a brave undertaking!"
They laughed into each other's faces through the dusk. "Well, I've
always hankered after a chance to show I'm brave. When I was a wee thing
I used to cry because I couldn't be a soldier. I had the finest
collection of tin soldiers you can imagine. A pairfect army. Mother used
to stint herself to buy them for me.... Oh, dear! Oh, dear!" He felt her
tremble again. "Well, we've come to the end of George the Fourth Bridge.
Is it not awful inappropriate to call a street after George the Fourth
when it is nearly all bookshops?"
She did not name the street which they were entering. Indeed, though her
breathing was tense, lethargy seemed to have fallen on her, and she
slackened her pace and made him halt with her at the kerb, where they
were necessarily jostled by the press of squalid people, lurching with
drink or merely with rough manners, that streamed up and down this
street of topless houses whose visible lower storeys were blear-eyed
with windows broken or hung with rags.
"Isn't this the High Street?"
"Yes. And I wish we were here any time but this. Think if this was a
fine Saturday morning now, and we were going up to the Castle to see the
Highlanders drilling."
"Didn't you say the Public Health Office was opposite the Cathedral?"
"I did so. But dear knows it was ridiculous of me to drag you here. Most
likely her number will not be there at all. After all, she was only
taken away this morning, and the doctor said there'd be no change. He
said I would be just a fule to worry."
He guided her across the road and looked for the office among the shops
that faced the dark shape of the Cathedral, while she hung on his arm.
"You will be angry with me for dragging you for nothing out into this
awful part."
"Is this it?"
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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