"And why not?" said Hugh, resting his oars on the rowlocks, and motioning to her to do the same.
"Wel indeed, Mishteer," she answered, laughing, "what would become of the work then? Who would make the sails?"
"Somebody else might," said Hugh; and he was silent for some time. "If I had my way," he said at last, "thou shouldst have a boat of thine own. Wouldst like that, lass?"
"Oh, anwl! What would I do with a boat—alone on the water? 'Twould soon become wearisome."
"But thou shouldst not be alone; I would row thee, Gwladys."
"Mishteer!" was all her answer.
"Yes, Gwladys. Hast not seen that I love thee? dost not know that all I have I would gladly give for thy love?"
His voice trembled, his eyes flashed, and the hand which held the oar in its nervous grasp shook like a leaf.
Gwladys was too astonished to think. She stooped over the soft, undulating water, pretending to look into its depths; and when at last his passionate words revealed plainly his meaning, she could only bend her head and ask timidly:
"Me?"