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"My heart is sore for you," said she, "but be sure you are too
nice. I would not believe you, do you say? I would trust you with
anything. And these men? I would not be thinking of them! Men
who go about to entrap and to destroy you! Fy! this is no time to
crouch. Look up! Do you not think I will be admiring you like a
great hero of the good--and you a boy not much older than myself?
And because you said a word too much in a friend's ear, that would
die ere she betrayed you--to make such a matter! It is one thing
that we must both forget."
"Catriona," said I, looking at her, hang-dog, "is this true of it?
Would ye trust me yet?"
"Will you not believe the tears upon my face?" she cried. "It is
the world I am thinking of you, Mr. David Balfour. Let them hang
you; I will never forget, I will grow old and still remember you.
I think it is great to die so: I will envy you that gallows."
"And maybe all this while I am but a child frighted with bogles,"
said I. "Maybe they but make a mock of me."
"It is what I must know," she said. "I must hear the whole.


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