Our names were always called together, but I felt noways sure.  I couldn’t think that a girl every way so desirable as Margaret should take up with a fellow so undesirable as myself.  I felt that she was too good for me.  I thought then that this was peculiar to our case.  But I have since observed, that, as a general thing, all women are too good for all men.  I am very sure I have seen something of the kind in print.

Then there was another feeling which worked itself in by degrees,—­one which would come back as often as I drove it away.  And once admitted, it gained strength.  ’Twas not a pleasant feeling, and it had to do with Jamie.

I had all along felt sure that he was attached to Mary.  I had therefore never thought anything of his being on pretty good terms with Margaret.  They were both of a lively turn, and thrown much together.  But by degrees the idea got possession of me that there was a secret understanding between them about something.  They had long talks and walks together.  And, in fact, I observed many little things, trifling in themselves, but much to me after my thoughts were once turned that way.

Sometimes I think, that, if I had never gone to sea, or had never met Jamie, or had not brought him home, my life might have been very different.  But then, if we once begin upon the “ifs,” we might as well go back to the beginning, and say, “If we had never been born.”

Jealousy.  And my proud, flashy temper.  That was it.

Jamie was like a brother to me.  He was a noble fellow, with a pleasant word and smile for everybody.  Not a family in the place but was glad to see him enter their doors.  It looks strange now that I could have distrusted him so.  Still, I must say, there seemed some cause.

But it’s not pleasant dwelling on this.  The daily events which stirred me up so then seem too trifling to mention.  I don’t like to call up all those dead feelings, now I’m an old man, and ashamed of them.

Jamie and Margaret became a mystery to me.  And I was by no means one to puzzle it out, as I would a sum in the rule-of-three.  ’Twas not all head-work.  However, I said nothing.  I was mean enough to watch, and too proud to question.

At last I began to ask myself what I really knew about Jamie.  He was only a poor sailor-boy, whom I had picked up and befriended.  And, once put upon thought, what did I know of Margaret?  What did anybody in the place?  Even Mr. Nathaniel only knew her father.  Her simple, childish ways might be all put on.  For she could act.  I had seen her, one evening, for our entertainment, imitate the actresses upon the stage.  First, she was a little girl, in a white frock, with a string of coral about her neck, and curls hanging over her pretty shoulders.  She said a little hymn, and her voice sounded just like a child’s.  Afterwards, she was a proud princess, in laces and jewels, a long train, and a bright crown.  Dressed in this way, with her head thrown back, her bosom heaving, and reciting something she had heard on the stage, we hardly knew our Margaret.