“Save your neck first,” was my answer, “then settle your private quarrels.”
“And you, madam, are you prepared to purchase my liberty with your own?” says he.
“I believe so,” says I, with an air of high indifference. “You foolish boy, do you think it matters one farthing to a woman whom she marries, so long as she is but able to marry someone? Now be a good lad, doff those petticoats, wipe the blood from your neck where the Captain’s ring hath scratched you, and start for the south without another word.”
“No,” says he, “for that is the very last course I propose to take. You shall never sacrifice yourself for me.”
“Sacrifice!” cries I; “La! the complimentary creature. ’Twill be a pleasure, I can promise you. Why, Captain, dear, we are to have a right merry time together, are we not?”
“Yes, a right merry time,” says the Captain, grimly.
“Oh, indeed,” says Mr. Anthony. “Ah, well, I am glad to hear you say so. For I’ll confess that I’ve had my doubts about it. Only I’m thinking that when his Majesty grows cognisant of this he may seek to mar the happiness of one of you at least.”
“Depend upon it, sir,” I retorted, stoutly, “that he will not hear of it.”
I continued to be so insistent on his immediate flight, and at the same time my determined attitude was so well served by the grim passiveness of the Captain, that in the end compliance seemed to be the young rebel’s only and inevitable course. And, to my great relief, this was the one he ultimately took.
“Well,” he exclaimed at last, “it’s plain that argument cannot avail.”