“Still discreet and sagacious! and yet only a most palpable feint to avoid my direct attack. You have heard of such a place as Gretna Green, a little to the north of this, I dare say, my aquatic comrade. Am I right?”
“Gretna Green!” said Manual, a little embarrassed by his ignorance; “some parade-ground, I suppose?”
“Ay, for those who suffer under the fire of Master Cupid. A parade-ground! well, there is some artful simplicity in that! But all will not do with an old campaigner. It is a difficult thing to impose on an old soldier, my water-battery. Now listen and answer; and you shall see what it is to possess a discernment—therefore deny nothing. You are in love?”
“I deny nothing,” said Manual, comprehending at once that this was his safest course.
“Your mistress is willing, and the money is ready, but the old people say, halt!”
“I am still mute!”
“Tis prudent. You say march—Gretna Green is the object; and your flight is to be by water!”
“Unless I can make my escape by water, I shall never make it,” said Manual, with another sympathetic movement with his hand to his throat.
“Keep mute; you need tell me nothing. I can see into a mystery that is as deep as a well, to-night. Your companions are hirelings; perhaps your shipmates; or men to pilot you on this expedition!”
“One is my shipmate, and the other is our pilot,” said Manual, with more truth than usual.