"Why, Cleone!" exclaimed the Captain, and folded his solitary arm about her; but not content with this, my lady must needs take his empty sleeve also, and, drawing it close about her neck, she held it there.
"Oh, Cleone!" sighed the Captain, "my dear, dear lass!"
"No," she cried, "I'm a heartless savage, an ungrateful wretch! I am, I am—and I hate myself!" and here, forthwith, she stamped her foot at herself.
"No, no, you're not—I say no! You didn't mean to break my heart. You've come back to me, thank God, and—and—Oh, egad, Cleone, I swear—I say I swear—by Gog and Magog, I'm snuffling like a birched schoolboy; but then I—couldn't bear to—lose my dear maid."
"Dear," she sighed, brushing away his tears with the cuff of his empty sleeve, "dear, if you'd only try to hate me a little—just a little, now and then, I don't think I should be quite such a wretch to you." Here she stood on tip-toe and kissed him on the chin, that being nearest. "I'm a cat—yes, a spiteful cat, and I must scratch sometimes; but ah! if you knew how I hated myself after! And I know you'll go and forgive me again, and that's what makes it so hard to bear."
"Forgive you, Clo'—ay, to be sure! You've come back to me, you see, and you didn't mean to leave me solitary and—"
"Ah, but I did—I did! And that's why I am a wretch, and a cat, and a savage! I meant to run away and leave you for ever and ever!"
"The house would be very dark without you, Cleone."
"Dear, hold me tighter—now listen! There are times when I hate the house, and the country, and—yes, even you. And at such times I grow afraid of myself—hold me tighter!—at such times I long for London—and—and—Ah, but you do love me, don't you?"
"Love you—my own lass!" The Captain's voice was very low, yet eloquent with yearning tenderness; but even so, his quick ear had caught a rustle in the hedge, and his sharp eye had seen Barnabas standing in the shadow. "Who's that?" he demanded sharply.