"But, as I daur say my
father tellt ye, I canna believe ye lo'e God wi' a' yer hert."
"Dare you say that for yourself, Margaret?"
"No; but I do want to love God wi' my whole hert. Mr. Bletherwick, are ye a
rael Christian? Or are ye sure ye're no a hypocreet? I wad like to ken. But
I dinna believe ye ken yersel!"
"Well, perhaps I do not. But I see there is no occasion to say more!"
"Na, nane," answered Maggie.
He lifted his hat, and turned away to the coach-office.
CHAPTER XI
It would be difficult to represent the condition of mind in which
Blatherwick sat on the box-seat of the Defiance coach that evening, behind
four gray thorough-breds, carrying him at the rate of ten miles an hour
towards Deemouth. Hurt pride, indignation, and a certain mild revenge in
contemplating Maggie's disappointment when at length she should become
aware of the distinction he had gained and she had lost, were its main
components. He never noted a feature of the rather tame scenery that went
hurrying past him, and yet the time did not seem to go slowly, for he was
astonished when the coach stopped, and he found his journey at an end.
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