CHRISTINA AND ANDREW


This confidence greatly troubled Christina; and as Sophy crossed the
sands and vanished into the shadows beyond, a strange, sad presentiment
of calamity oppressed her heart. Being herself in the enthusiasm of a
first love, she could not conceive such treachery possible as Sophy's
word seemed to imply. The girl had always been petted, and yet
discontented with her situation; and had often made complaints which
had no real foundation, and which in brighter moods she was likely to
repudiate. And this night Andrew, instead of her Aunt Kilgour, was the
object of her dissatisfaction--that would be all. To-morrow she would
be complaining to Andrew of her aunt's hard treatment of her, and
Andrew would be whispering of future happiness in her ears.

Upon the whole, therefore, Christina thought it would be cruel and
foolish to tell her brother a word of what Sophy had said. Why should
she disturb his serene faith in the girl so dear to him, until there
was some more evident reason to do so? He was, as his mother said,
"very touchy" about Sophy, being well aware that the village did not
approve of the changes in her dress, and of those little reluctances
and reserves in her behaviour, which had sprung up inevitably amid the
refinements and wider acquaintances of town life.

"And so many things happen as the clock goes round," she thought.
"Braelands may say or do something that will put him out of favour. Or
he may take himself off to a foreign country--he is gey fond of France
and Germany too--and Goodness knows he will never be missed in
Fifeshire. Or _them behind_ may sort what flesh and blood cannot
manage; so I will keep a close mouth anent the matter. One may think