“What will it matter if they do not know it till we return? I almost think you would like another better than me, Margaret.”
“If you, William, were, in some respects, other than you are, I should like you full as well; but, as you are, I love you, and you know it. Why not come ashore, and marry me at our own church, and in the presence of my own parents? As to any other, William, though another may like me, I cannot help it, but I can help his having me.”
“Then there is another that does love you!—is there, Margaret?”
A blush passed over Margaret’s face as she replied, “Another has told me so, and I did not deceive him. He thought you dead, or he would never have ventured upon the subject. I told him he was mistaken, that you were not dead, and that I still loved you, William.”
“Then he knows I live, does he?”
“Yes.”
“And you have betrayed me?”
“No: I have not told any one but him; and as he pressed his suit, thinking that you were no more, I felt it to be only due to him to tell him you were alive.”
“And who is he, Margaret? You would not have been so plain with him if he had not had somewhat of your confidence.”