"You are not going to keep that, Benet?" says she, seeing what I was about.
"Ay," says I, "if you will let me." And then, not knowing any better excuse to make, I added, "It may serve very well for fish-lines if there be any angling to do."
Thereupon we fell to talking of fishing and hunting, as that were the main question (though, so far as I was concerned, it was a long way therefrom), and I took her to see what I had got us in the shape of provision; and, to our content, no mischief had happened to those things by casting them down so hurriedly, for they had fallen into a tuft of grass, and the gourd of milk was unspilt. So we set about making a fire and preparing our food, all with a light and cheerful heart, as if 'twas the most natural thing in the world for my lady to be figuring in the garb of a boy. But when she was occupied with the cooking of the tamandua, under the pretense of seeing that the canoe had not shifted, I withdrew a little out of sight, and having pressed my lips and cheek to the cold shining locks of her hair, I opened my doublet and slipped them into my breast, where I ever kept them thereafter.
And now, to make an end to this part of our history, I must say here that I think my dear lady had another and secret intent in putting on the boy's habit and cutting off her hair, which was that she might that way abate somewhat the passion of love that reigned in my heart, and was, despite my utmost endeavors to conceal it, yet visible to her eyes. She thought, as I believe, that by putting off the garb and character of her sex, I might come to regard her less as a woman, and more as a comrade of my own kind. It is not necessary to be a philosopher—it is enough to be a woman—to perceive that a man's tenderness does increase by the dependence of womankind upon his means and love; and 'twas for this reason she desired to undertake what I undertook, to overcome her weakness, and to stand alone, as one may say.
But my passion was proof against these devices. For I could trace no action of hers to its motive without increasing my admiration and delight in the contemplation of her fine disposition. Nay, the aspect of her mind did delight my soul, as much, I truly believe, as the sight of her dear person; and she could do nothing to conceal the one or disguise the other from my searching perception. "Lord!" thinks I, when I dare not look at her, "can there be another soul so beautiful in all the world?" And then, when her eyes were elsewhere and I could regard her unseen, I would mark the dainty outline of her brow and nose, and the short upper lip that did betray her delicacy, her rounded under lip that spoke of mirth, her full, round chin, in which was no sign of weak or wanton purpose; also (with joy) how her hair that I had cut so barbarous straight did begin to curl at the end, and would sit shining on her shoulder or flutter in the soft breeze lightly by her downy cheek, like a butterfly beside a peach-plum.
CHAPTER LVII.
THE RAINY SEASON SETS IN WITH A VENGEANCE, AND WE ARE PUT TO SORRY SHIFT TO KEEP FROM DROWNING.
For five weeks we traveled down that great river, and if I set about it I could give a good account of every day; for 'twas my pleasure when I lay down at night to review the incidents of the day, since every hour did yield some precious food for rumination. Assuredly there were accidents, mishaps, and perils in that journey (as notably an assault by hostile savages, which made us mindful to trust them not thereafter); but in overcoming these difficulties and helping each other, my dear lady and I were knit more closely together, seeing that we had fared but miserably alone; and trouble, I take it, is like salt, which of itself is an abomination, but mingled sparingly with one's daily bread does give it good savor, and serves as a zest to the appetite.
But not to weary the reader with a tedious detail of my happiness, I will cut this matter short, and come to that time when the rainy season set in, and I knew no comfort day or night for concern on my dear lady's account. And over this business I will not linger neither, for surely no one with a feeling heart will care to hear of my misery.