We rowed to the ship's side, a ladder was hoisted over, and a lanthorn held. By the light of it I could see Mr. Curwen, and behind him my servant Ashlock. I rose to give a hand to Dorothy, but she sat in the stern without so much as a pretence of movement.
"Come, Dorothy," said Mr. Curwen.
Dorothy looked steadily at me.
"She is very plain," she said, and then looked away across the river, humming a tune.
I was in a quandary as to what I should do. For I knew that she was not plain; but also I knew that Dorothy would not move until I had said she was. So I stood then holding on to the ladder while the boat rose and sank beneath my feet. I have been told since that there was really only one expedient which would have served my turn, and that was to tumble incontinently into the water and make as much pretence of drowning as I could. Only it never occurred to me, and so I weakly gave in.
Dorothy stepped on board. The boat was hoisted, the anchor raised, and in the smallest space of time the foam was bubbling from the bows. Overhead the stars shone steady in the sky and danced in the water beneath us, and so we sailed to France.
"Dorothy," said I, "there is a word which has been much used between us—friends."
"Yes!" said she in a low voice, "it is a good word."
And so it was many months afterwards before I came to her again in Paris and pleaded that there was a better.
"I would you thought with me," I stammered out.