I had walked
rapidly, and as I had not overtaken her, I concluded I was on the wrong
scent.
Within ten minutes I discovered that I was not on the wrong scent, for,
much to my surprise, sorrow, and disgust, I saw Frances and Hamilton come
around a turn in the path, push aside the bushes as though they knew the
place, enter the dense thicket bordering the path, and sit down on the
rocky bench beneath me. My first impulse was to speak, but for many
reasons I determined to listen. Silence reigned below me during the next
minute or two, and then Hamilton spoke:--
"You must deem me a coward, Mistress Jennings, since I did not call your
cousin to account for what he said yesterday?"
"No," she answered. "It was brave of you to refrain. It must be a great
deal easier for a gentleman to resent an insult than to endure it. My
cousin said as much to me yesterday evening. He said he had always known
that you were brave, but that he had not expected to find in you the
moral courage to bear his words with equanimity. He also said he was glad
he did not have to meet you in a duel, because you were so greatly his
superior with the sword. It was brave of you not to challenge him.
Perhaps it was on my account you desisted."
"No, it was because I respected him far more than any man I have ever
known, and because he told the truth. Do not speak of my bravery in the
same breath with his. He was as cool as though he were telling an amusing
story.
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