"What mean you?"
"Is not Neil Semple dead?"
"No. I think, also, that he will live."
"I am glad. It is good for Katherine."
"I see it not."
"Well, then, if he dies, is it not Katherine's fault?"
"Heaven and hell! No! Katherine is not to blame."
"All respectable and moral people will say so."
"Better for them not to say so. If I hear of it, then I will make them
say it to my face."
"Then? Well?"
"I have my hands and my feet, for them--to punish their tongues."
"And the kirk session?"
"Oh, I care not! What is the kirk session to my little Katherine?
Batavius, if man or woman you hear speak ill of her, tell them it is not
Katherine, but Bram Van Heemskirk, that will bring everything back to
them. What words I say, them I mean."
"Oh, yes! And mind this, Bram, the words I think, them words I will say,
whether you like them or like them not."
"As the wind you bluster,--on the sabbath day, also. In your ship I sail
not, Batavius. Good-by, then, Katherine; and if any are unkind to thee,
tell thy brother. For thou art right, and not wrong."
But, though Bram bravely championed his sister, he could not protect her
from those wicked innuendoes disseminated for the gratification of the
virtuous; nor from those malicious regrets of very good people over
rumours which they declare to "be incredible," and yet which,
nevertheless, they "unfortunately believe to be too true." The Scotch
have a national precept which says, "Never speak ill of the dead."
Would it not be much better to speak no ill of the living? Little could
it have mattered to Madam Bogardus or Madam Stuyvesant what a lot of
silly people said of them in Pearl Street or Maiden Lane, a century
after their death; but poor Katherine Van Heemskirk shivered and
sickened in the presence of averted eyes and uplifted shoulders, and in
that chill atmosphere of disapproval which separated her from the
sympathy and confidence of her old friends and acquaintances.
"It is thy punishment," said her mother, "bear it bravely and patiently.
In a little while, it will be forgot." But the weeks went on, and the
wounded men slowly fought death away from their pillows, and Katherine
did not recover the place in social estimation which she had lost
through the ungovernable tempers of her lovers. For, alas, there are few
social pleasures that have so much vital power as that of exploring the
faults of others, and comparing them with our own virtues!