She soon recovered from her bruises, being perfectly healthy, and elastic as india–rubber. Nevertheless, she would not have been saved from that terrible sea but for the generosity of poor Captain Roberts, and the gallantry of Bob Garnet.
Now Bob was hurt rather seriously, and, being (as we are well aware) an uncommonly shy young fellow, he was greatly astonished, and shocked a little, when on the Friday morning a beautiful girl, very strangely dressed, ran to the side of his sofa, threw her arms round him, and kissed him till he was out of breath, and his face was wet with the dew of her tears.
“Oh, please donʼt,” said Bob; “I am sure I donʼt deserve it.”
“Yes, you do; and I will marry you when I am old enough. I donʼt know what you are like, and I donʼt care two straws, directly they told me what you had done. Only I must have papaʼs leave. Kiss me again, I like it. Now where is my darling papa?”
“What, donʼt you know? Havenʼt they told you? Oh, poor thing!”
At the tone of his voice she leaped back, like a bird at the gun–flash, and stood with her little hands clasped on her head, her eyes with their deep light quivering, and the whole of her form swinging to and fro, from the wild push of sudden terror. Then she spoke with a hollow depth, which frightened Bob more than the kissing.
“They told me that he was well, gone to his brother somewhere, and I thought it wasnʼt like him to leave me so, and—tell me the truth, or Iʼll shake you to pieces.”
“No, donʼt,” said Bob, as she leaped at him; “I have had shaking enough.”
“Yes, you poor boy, and for my sake. I am a brute, I know. Tell me the truth, if you love me.”