"Don't dare to say that to me! You are good when you are not thinking of that scoundrel. It's him that has made people speak about you like they do! But, listen, Ellenor, if you was the blackest of the black, I'd love you, because it's you, and because I was made to love you, once and for ever."
She burst into a passion of tears.
"That's how I love him! He's the blackest of the black—a liar, a smuggler, a cheat to his wife and to me, too fond of his glass, cruel to the poor, mad for money, pretending to be pious of a Sunday; and yet, yet, I love him, because it's him, and because I was made to love him, once and for ever."
"My God! how you hurt me!" cried poor Perrin, clasping her hand closer in his.
She cried quietly for a little while, and Corbet did not try to check her tears. His tender love made him wise and gentle as his own mother. At last she was quite still, and presently she said,
"Perrin, if you love me, I'll be your wife some day."
"Do you really mean it? It seems too good to be true. I can't take it in, as you see. And yet if it does come to pass, there'll be no man prouder than me in the whole of Guernsey!"
"But, if I am to be your wife, there'll be a condition."
"Condition! You can make a hundred, dear Ellenor."