“Maybe, maybe, John; but I do not like being too desperate. I’ll fulfil my word, and give you more than half my share, which you know is a pretty good one, if you will lend me an honest and fair play.”
“I’ll do nothing, Bill, but what you tell me. I’ll lay like a log in the boat, and stir not without the boatswain’s whistle; and as to an honest hand, I’ll tell you what, Will, ’tis something as good as your own—it will do by you as well as your own would do by me.”
“Say no more, say no more! But look, John—I do believe I see her by the shore.”
“I see something white, but that’s the cottage in the Reach.”
“No, no, John; keep her head well up; my eyes are clearer than yours—I see her flag waving in the wind. You may take your tack now, John—we shall run directly across. Ease out the mainsail a bit, and I’ll mind the foresail. Bear up, my hearty! bear up, my hearty!”
With such words of mutual encouragement did these men of the sea, the river, and the land, after passing Woolverstone Park, steer directly across, towards Nacton Creek, that they might hug the wind under Downham Reach, and move more rapidly, in shallow water, against the tide.
Any one would imagine, from their conversation, that they were intent upon cutting out some vessel from her moorings, instead of a poor, defenceless girl, who, trusting to nothing but the strength of true love, stood waiting for them on the shore.
There stood the ever faithful Margaret, with palpitating heart, watching the light barque, as it came bounding over the small curling waves of the Orwell. In her breast beat feelings such as some may have experienced; but, whoever they may be, they must have been most desperately in love. Hope, fear, joy, and terror, anxiety, and affection—each, in turn, sent their separate sensations, in quick succession, into her soul. Hope predominated over the rest, and suggested these bright thoughts—
“He is coming to me, no more to be tried, no more to be disapproved, but to tell me he is an honest man, and engaged in honest service.”