When they had returned to the potato garden, and were plucking herbs for the poultices he had promised to renew during his midnight vigils, he suddenly remarked:—
"We must leave here for the English coast as soon as we can get a fishing smack to take us along."
"Leave here?" she uttered in dismay. "I would remain for ever."
He gave a short gasp, clutched her hands, and looked straight into the transparent blue depths of her eyes. Then he moved away a step or two and shook his head.
"It is inevitable; we must go to England—give ourselves over to law and parson."
"Here it is better," she cooed; "you are king and I am priest." But he dissented.
"I never had much respect for Church or State. I appreciate them as one appreciates steel to sharpen one's blade against."
She did not understand. Only the simplest English formed her vocabulary, but she saw he disagreed with her.
"Here we are everything," she said; "we make laws straight from God for ourselves."