One morning in October, Christina met her brother on the sands, and he said, "I will take the boat and give you a sail, if you like, Christina. There is only a pleasant breeze."
"I wish you would, Andrew," she answered. "This little northwester will blow every weariful thought away."
"I'm feared I have been somewhat cross and ill to do for, lately. Mother says so."
"Mother does not say far wrong. You have lost your temper often, Andrew, and consequent your common sense. And it is not like you to be unfair, not to say unkind; you have been that more than once, and to two who love you dearly."
Andrew said no more until they were on the bay, then he let the oars drift, and asked:-"What did you think of Sophy the last time you saw her? Tell me truly, Christina."
"Who knows aught about Sophy? She hardly knows her own mind. You cannot tell what she is thinking about by her face, any more than you can tell what she is going to do by her words. She is as uncertain as the wind, and it has changed since you lifted the oars. Is there anything new to fret yourself over?"
"Ay, there is. I cannot get sight of her."
"Are you twenty-seven years old, and of such a beggary of capacity as not to be able to concert time and place to see her?"
"But if she herself is against seeing me, then how am I going to manage?"
"What way did you find out that she was against seeing you?"
"Whatever else could I think, when I get no other thing but excuses? First, she was gone away for a week's rest, and Mistress Kilgour said I had better not trouble her--she was that nervous."
"Where did she go to?"
"I don't believe she was out of her aunt's house. I am sure the postman was astonished when I told him she was away, and her aunt's face was very confused-like. Then when I went again she had a headache, and could hardly speak a word to me; and she never named about the week's holiday. And the next time there was a ball dress making; and the next she had gone to the minister's for her 'token,' and when I said I would go there and meet her, I was told not to think of such a thing; and so on, and so on, Christina. There is nothing but put-offs and put-bys, and my heart is full of sadness and fearful wonder."
"And if you do see her, what then, Andrew?"