Bonyton grasped his hand warmly.
“Nay, nay, my noble friend, we are both stricken of God and afflicted in this matter; let us not add a drop to our bitter cup by estrangement between ourselves. Look yonder where they come.”
At this moment the two of whom they had been speaking emerged from the verge of the forest. The girl was evidently angry, for she gesticulated rapidly, and gave emphasis to her words by twanging her bowstring till it gave out a sharp, shrill sound like a subdued yell. As they approached, the two fathers stepped aside, where they could watch the pair unperceived.
At a glance they saw that both were dripping with water, and both were pale and excited.
The lips of John Bonyton were compressed to a single line of blue, his brow contracted sharply, and, as they paused on the verge of the forest, his flashing black eyes were fixed upon the face of Hope, who stood looking upward to him, her exquisite head thrown back; while ever and anon she gave her long hair a shake to relieve it of the heavy drops of water, and then twanged the bowstring as a help to her expression, they heard her say:
“You know I can swim, John Bonyton. You know I never want help anywhere, nor for any thing.” (A shake of the hair, and twang of bow.)
“I know you fear nothing, Hope—”
“Fear!” interrupted the girl. “Fear! I scorn the idea. Haven’t I leaped a hundred times from rock to rock across the Saco falls? Leaped the wolve’s chasm?”
“I know it all, Hope, but—”
“But me no buts! Haven’t I defied Samoset himself when he made me angry? (A shake and a twang.) When that ugly Terrentine would have carried me off to make me into a medicine-woman, did he not barely escape with his life? and hadn’t I his scalping-knife out of his own girdle to defend myself with?”