Arethusa. O Kit, you are not angry with me.
Kit. Have I reason to be pleased?
Arethusa. Kit, I was wrong. Forgive me.
Kit. O yes. I forgive you. I suppose you meant it kindly; but there are some kindnesses a man would rather die than take a gift of. When a man is accused, Arethusa, it is not that he fears the gallows—it’s the shame that cuts him. At such a time as that, the way to help was to stand to your belief. You should have nailed my colours to the mast, not spoke of striking them. If I were to be hanged to-morrow, and your love there, and a free pardon and a dukedom on the other side—which would I choose?
Arethusa. Kit, you must judge me fairly. It was not my life that was at stake, it was yours. Had it been mine—mine, Kit—what had you done, then?
Kit. I am a downright fool; I saw it inside out. Why, give you up, by George!
Arethusa. Ah, you see! Now you understand. It was all pure love. When he said that word—O! death and that disgrace!... But I know my father. He fears nothing so much as the goodness of his heart; and yet it conquers. He would pray, he said; and to-night, and by the kindness of his voice, I knew he was convinced already. All that is wanted is that you should forgive me.
Kit. Arethusa, if you looked at me like that I’d forgive you piracy on the high seas. I was only sulky; I was boxed up there in the black dark, and couldn’t see my hand. It made me pity that blind man, by George.
Arethusa. O, that blind man! The fiend! He came back, Kit: did you hear him? he thought we had killed you—you!
Kit. Well, well, it serves me right for keeping company with such a swab.