Part 27 (2/2)
This bold a.s.sertion naturally filled the vision with surprise.
”Why for not?” she asked, sitting down on a log beside March in such a position that she could see him easily.
”For thinkin' o' _you_!” replied the bold youth firmly.
The vision looked at him in still greater astonishment, opening her eyes slowly until they seemed like two pellucid lakelets of unfathomable depth into which March felt inclined to fling himself, clothes and all, and be drowned comfortably. She then looked at the fire, then at March again. It was evident that she had not been accustomed to hold intercourse with jocular minds. Perceiving this, March at once changed his tone, and, with a feeling of respect which he could not well account for, said rather bluntly--
”What's your name?”
”Mary.”
”Ay! did your father give you that name?”
”My father?” echoed the girl, looking hastily up.
”Ay, did d.i.c.k give it you?”
”Did him tell you him's name be d.i.c.k?” asked Mary.
”Oh! he's known by another name to you, then, it would seem. But, Mary, what _is_ his name?”
The girl pursed her mouth and laid her finger on it. Then, with a little sad smile, said--
”Him tell you d.i.c.k, that be good name. But d.i.c.k not my father. My father dead.”
The poor thing said this so slowly and in such a low pathetic tone that March felt sorry for having unwittingly touched a tender chord. He hastened to change the subject by saying--
”Is d.i.c.k kind to you, Mary?”
”Kind,” she cried, looking up with a flas.h.i.+ng eye and flushed face, while with one of her little hands she tossed back her luxuriant tresses. ”Kind! Him be my father _now_. No have got n.o.body to love me now but him.”
”Yes, you have, Mary,” said March stoutly.
Mary looked at him in surprise, and said, ”Who?”
”Me!” replied March.
Mary said nothing to this. It was quite clear that the Wild Man must have neglected her education sadly. She did not even smile; she merely shook her head, and gazed abstractedly at the embers of the fire.
”d.i.c.k is not your father, Mary,” continued March energetically, ”but he has become your father. I am not your brother, but I'll become your brother--if you'll let me.”
March in his enthusiasm tried to raise himself; consequently he fell back and drowned Mary's answer in a groan of anguish. But he was not to be baulked.
”What said you?” he inquired after a moment's pause.
”Me say you be very good.”
She said this so calmly that March felt severely disappointed. In the height of his enthusiasm he forgot that the poor girl had as yet seen nothing to draw out her feelings towards him as his had been drawn out towards her. She had seen no ”vision,” except, indeed, the vision of a wretched, dishevelled youth, of an abrupt, excitable temperament, with one side of his countenance scratched in a most disreputable manner, and the other side swelled and mottled to such an extent that it resembled a cheap plum-pudding with the fruit unequally and spa.r.s.ely distributed over its yellow surface.
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