the sand hills and
above the beach. It was here long and solitary; with a man-o'-war's boat
drawn up about the middle of the prospect, and an officer in charge and
pacing the sands like one who waited. I sat immediately down where the
rough grass a good deal covered me, and looked for what should follow.
Catriona went straight to the boat; the officer met her with civilities;
they had ten words together; I saw a letter changing hands; and there
was Catriona returning. At the same time, as if this was all her
business on the Continent, the boat shoved off and was headed for the
_Seahorse_. But I observed the officer to remain behind and disappear
among the bents.

I liked the business little; and the more I considered of it, liked it
less. Was it Alan the officer was seeking? or Catriona? She drew near
with her head down, looking constantly on the sand, and made so tender a
picture that I could not bear to doubt her innocency. The next, she
raised her face and recognised me; seemed to hesitate, and then came on
again, but more slowly, and I thought with a changed colour. And at that
thought, all else that was upon my bosom--fears, suspicions, the care of
my friend's life--was clean swallowed up; and I rose to my feet and
stood waiting her in a drunkenness of hope.

I gave her "good-morning" as she came up, which she returned with a good
deal of composure.

"Will you forgive my having followed you?" said I.

"I know you are always meaning kindly," she replied; and then, with a
little outburst, "But why will you be sending money to that man? It must
not be."

"I never sent it for him," said I, "but for you, as you know well."

"And you have no right to be sending it to either one of us," said she.
"David, it is not right."

"It is not, it is all wrong," said I; "and I pray God he will help this
dull fellow (if it be at all possible), to make it better. Catriona,
this is no kind of life for you to lead, and I ask your pardon for the
word, but yon man is no fit father to take care of you."

"Do not be speaking of him, even!" was her cry.

"And I need speak of him no more, it is not of him that I am thinking,
O, be sure of that!" says I. "I think of the one thing. I have been
alone now this long time in Leyden; and when I was by way of at my
studies, still I was thinking of that. Next Alan came, and I went among
soldier-men to their big dinners; and still I had the same thought. And
it was the same before, when I h