“I will never complain of the country of my friend,” said she, and spoke it out with an accent so particular that I seemed to see the look upon her face.

I caught in my breath sharp and came near falling (for my pains) on the black ice.

“I do not know what you think, Catriona,” said I, when I was a little recovered, “but this has been the best day yet!  I think shame to say it, when you have met in with such misfortunes and disfavours; but for me, it has been the best day yet.”

“It was a good day when you showed me so much love,” said she.

“And yet I think shame to be happy too,” I went on, “and you here on the road in the black night.”

“Where in the great world would I be else?” she cried.  “I am thinking I am safest where I am with you.”

“I am quite forgiven, then?” I asked.

“Will you not forgive me that time so much as not to take it in your mouth again?” she cried.  “There’s is nothing in this heart to you but thanks.  But I will be honest too,” she added, with a kind of suddenness, “and I’ll never can forgive that girl.”

“Is this Miss Grant again?” said I.  “You said yourself she was the best lady in the world.”

“So she will be, indeed!” says Catriona.  “But I will never forgive her for all that.  I will never, never forgive her, and let me hear tell of her no more.”

“Well,” said I, “this beats all that ever came to my knowledge; and I wonder that you can indulge yourself in such bairnly whims.  Here is a young lady that was the best friend in the world to the both of us, that learned us how to dress ourselves, and in a great manner how to behave, as anyone can see that knew us both before and after.”

But Catriona stopped square in the midst of the highway.

“It is this way of it,” said she.  “Either you will go on to speak of her, and I will go back to yon town, and let come of it what God pleases!  Or else you will do me that politeness to talk of other things.”

I was the most nonplussed person in this world; but I bethought me that she depended altogether on my help, that she was of the frail sex and not so much beyond a child, and it was for me to be wise for the pair of us.

“My dear girl,” said I, “I can make neither head nor tails of this; but God forbid that I should do anything to set you on the jee.  As for talking of Miss Grant I have no such a mind to it, and I believe it was yourself began it.  My only design (if I took you up at all) was for your own improvement, for I hate the very look of injustice.  Not that I do not wish you to have a good pride and a nice female delicacy; they become you well; but here you show them to excess.”

“Well, then, have you done?” said she.

“I have done,” said I.

“A very good thing,” said she, and we went on again, but now in silence.

It was an eerie employment to walk in the gross night, beholding only shadows and hearing nought but our own steps.  At first, I believe our hearts burned against each other with a deal of enmity; but the darkness and the cold, and the silence, which only the cocks sometimes interrupted, or sometimes the farmyard dogs, had pretty soon brought down our pride to the dust; and for my own particular, I would have jumped at any decent opening for speech.