"Very unfit," comes from that young gentleman of the cloth.
We were all three standing, and I make no doubt my own face went as red
as theirs, for the taunt bit home. That inference of evil where no
evil was, made an angrier man than was my wont. The two moved towards
the door. I put myself across their way.
"Rebecca, you do yourself wrong! You are measuring other people's
deeds with too short a yardstick, little woman, and the wrong is in
your own mind, not theirs."
"I--I--don't know what you mean!" cried Rebecca obstinately, with a
break in her voice that ought to have warned; but her next words
provoked afresh. "It was wicked!--it was sinful!"--with an angry
stamp--"it was shameful of Jack Battle to marry an Indian girl----"
There I cut in.
"Was it?" I asked. "Young woman, let me tell you a bald truth! When a
white man marries an Indian, the union is as honourable as your own
would be. It is when the white man does _not_ marry the Indian that
there is shame; and the shame is to the white man, not the Indian----!"
Sure, one might let an innocent bundle of swans' down and baby cheeks
have its foibles without laying rough hands upon them!
The next,--little Rebecca cries out that I've insulted her, is in
floods of tears, and marches off on the young gentleman's arm.
Pages:
274
275
276
277
278
279
280
281
282
283
284
285
286
287
288
289
290
291
292
293
294
295
296
297
298