“Sail with you?” and she looked up eagerly.
“There! I knew it! She would not be four-and-twenty hours ashore, but she would be off into the woods again, bow in hand, like any runaway nymph, and we should never see her more.”
“It is false, bad man!” and she burst into violent tears, and hid her face in Mrs. Leigh's lap.
“Amyas, Amyas, why do you tease the poor fatherless thing?”
“I was only jesting, I'm sure,” said Amyas, like a repentant schoolboy. “Don't cry now, don't cry, my child, see here,” and he began fumbling in his pockets; “see what I bought of a chapman in town to-day, for you, my maid, indeed, I did.”
And out he pulled some smart kerchief or other, which had taken his sailor's fancy.
“Look at it now, blue, and crimson, and green, like any parrot!” and he held it out.
She looked round sharply, snatched it out of his hand, and tore it to shreds.
“I hate it, and I hate you!” and she sprang up and darted out of the room.
“Oh, boy, boy!” said Mrs. Leigh, “will you kill that poor child? It matters little for an old heart like mine, which has but one or two chords left whole, how soon it be broken altogether; but a young heart is one of God's precious treasures, Amyas, and suffers many a long pang in the breaking; and woe to them who despise Christ's little ones!”