The man either had a contempt for the peril that threatened or else hardly grasped its serious nature—at least he showed a recklessness in dealing with the situation that might possibly have been expected when the fact of his having Irish blood in his veins was taken into consideration, for seldom have Ireland's sons been in battle without leading some forlorn hope in the van.
"Not until you tell me again that you love me," he declared, eagerly.
Some men would have called him a fool, but evidently they could never have adored a woman—to the man who loves, all else gives way before his passion.
So nature has constituted him.
"You already know it," she said, quickly, endeavoring to push him towards the ladder, and even her eagerness to insure his safety was a source of deep satisfaction to the lover.
"But I must hear you say it—consider, weeks may elapse before I see you again and I shall be exposed to all manner of danger. Tell me," he insisted with a determination nothing could move but acquiescence.
Perhaps there was one particular danger in her mind that would hover over him constantly, and against which she in her innocent, loving heart prayed that he might be delivered—Cleo.
However, she realized that he would accept no half way compromise.
The sailors on board were shouting and running to the rail to ascertain what species of porpoise or shark kicked up such a fiendish racket alongside their vessel, for the wretched Jerome, unable to shout, and actually half strangled, was threshing the water like a young steam engine in the endeavor to keep himself afloat and frighten away the voracious monsters of the deep.
"Carramba! foolish man to risk so much for a woman's word. Know then that I do love you with all my heart and soul—the good Father above preserve you, for me!"