“Oh, you fool, you fool, Anny,” he said bitterly. “Do you think your little sea-rat will wed you?”
Anny looked at him with child-like surprise.
“I do not think at all,” she said, and added under her breath: “I know.”
Hal looked at her hopelessly. He felt that Joe’s advice had not been altogether helpful, and as she stood there, a wild, free-looking little creature in the dim light, he could not help feeling that if he had coaxed her instead of attempting to drive her into his arms things might have gone better with him, and Anny as she stood looking at him felt a pang in her heart when she thought of the old Hal, the Hal whom she had loved, who had been so different from this new Hal who seemed to be deliberately trying to make her hate him.
For two seconds they stood looking at one another, each hoping against hope that all would yet come right; yet neither of them spoke. At last Anny turned away and went slowly into the house, her mind made up about her marriage and her thoughts on Black’erchief Dick.
Hal watched her go and then sat down again, his head on his hands. Presently he put his hand into his pocket and brought out the two groats, and looked at them as they lay shining in his palm, and then made a gesture as though to fling them from him away into the bushes, but thought better of it and repocketed them.
“The lass may love me still,” he muttered to himself. “I’ll get the present for her. Lasses are slippery catches. I would I knew the way of them.”
Then, thrusting his hands deep into his pockets, he got up heavily and strolled slowly up the path, kicking savagely at the loose gravel as he went.
CHAPTER XXI
“HO, THERE, you mange-struck dogs, broach a keg and drink to your captain’s lady!”