“You have heard me upon this point: do not urge it any more. I have now stolen away from duty, William, to meet you here, and I hope I shall not be missed. Let me only hear you say you will come again soon, to marry me at home, and I shall return to my service happy.”
“I would if I could, but I cannot.”
“Why not, William? why not?”
“Do not ask me why. Come, Margaret, come to the boat, and share my fate. I will be constant to you, and you shall be my counsellor.”
“Nay, William, do not urge me to forsake all my friends, and put all this country in terror as to what has become of me. I cannot go on board your boat. I cannot give you myself until God and my parents have given me to you. So do not think of it; but, come again, come again!—yes, again and again!—but come openly, in the sight of all men, and I will be yours. I live for you only, William, and will never be another’s whilst you live.”
“But how can I live without you, Margaret? I cannot come in the way you talk of; I tell you I cannot. Do, then, do be mine.”
“I am yours, William, and will ever be so; but it must be openly, before all men, and upon no other terms.”
“Then it will never be!”
“Why so?”
“Because I am a smuggler!”