“Eve, there is plenty of wind blowing up from the nor'east.”
“Is there? I am afraid that will bring your ship down quick.”
“Yes; but it is not that. I am afraid that lubber won't think of looking to windward.”
“Nonsense about the wind; it is a beautiful day. Come, David, it is no use lighting against nature. Put on your hat, then, and run down to the beach, and see the last of her; only, for my sake, don't let the others see you, to jeer you.”
“No, no.”
“And mind and be back to dinner at four. I have got a nice roast fowl for you.”
“Ay ay.”
A little before four o'clock a sailor brought a note from David, written hastily in pencil. It was sent up to Eve. She read it, and clasped her hands vehemently.
“Oh, David, she was born to be your destruction.”