sex, to make angels weep
over the case of the poor men.

We were side by side again at supper, and what a change was there! She
was like curdled milk to me; her face was like a wooden doll's; I could
have indifferently smitten her or grovelled at her feet, but she gave me
not the least occasion to do either. No sooner the meal done than she
betook herself to attend on Mrs. Gebbie, which I think she had a little
neglected heretofore. But she was to make up for lost time, and in what
remained of the passage was extraordinary assiduous with the old lady,
and on deck began to make a great deal more than I thought wise of
Captain Sang. Not but what the captain seemed a worthy, fatherly man;
but I hated to behold her in the least familiarity with any one except
myself.

Altogether, she was so quick to avoid me, and so constant to keep
herself surrounded with others, that I must watch a long while before I
could find my opportunity; and after it was found, I made not much of
it, as you are now to hear.

"I have no guess how I have offended," said I; "it should scarce be
beyond pardon, then. O, try if you can pardon me."

"I have no pardon to give," said she; and the words seemed to come out
of her throat like marbles. "I will be very much obliged for all your
friendships." And she made me an eighth part of a curtsy.

But I had schooled myself beforehand to say more, and I was going to say
it too.

"There is one thing," said I. "If I have shocked your particularity by
the showing of that letter, it cannot touch Miss Grant. She wrote not to
you, but to a poor, common, ordinary lad, who might have had more sense
than show it. If you are to blame me----"

"I will advise you to say no more about that girl, at all events!" said
Catriona. "It is her I will never look the road of, not if she lay
dying." She turned away from me, and suddenly back. "Will you swear you
will have no more to deal with her?" she cried.

"Indeed, and I will never be so unjust then," said I; "nor yet so
ungrateful."

And now it was I that turned away.

FOOTNOTES:

[24] Sea-fog.

[25] Bashful.

[26] Rest.

CHAPTER XXII

HELVOETSLUYS

The weather in the end considerably worsened; the wind sang in the
shrouds, the sea swelled higher, and the ship began to labour and cry
out among the billows. The song of the leadsman in the chains was now
scarce ceasing, for we thrid all the way among shoals. About nine in the
morning, in