‘I am not altogether afraid of you; I am safe from the French here,’ said Anne, not very truthfully, and anxiously casting her eyes over the vacant down.
‘Then let me tell you that the alarm is false, and that no landing has been attempted. Now will you open the door and let me in? I am tired. I have been on horseback ever since daylight, and have come to bring you the good tidings.’
Anne looked as if she doubted the news.
‘Come,’ said Festus.
‘No, I cannot let you in,’ she murmured, after a pause.
‘Dash my wig, then,’ he cried, his face flaming up, ‘I’ll find a way to get in! Now, don’t you provoke me! You don’t know what I am capable of. I ask you again, will you open the door?’
‘Why do you wish it?’ she said faintly.
‘I have told you I want to sit down; and I want to ask you a question.’
‘You can ask me from where you are.’
‘I cannot ask you properly. It is about a serious matter: whether you will accept my heart and hand. I am not going to throw myself at your feet; but I ask you to do your duty as a woman, namely, give your solemn word to take my name as soon as the war is over and I have time to attend to you. I scorn to ask it of a haughty hussy who will only speak to me through a window; however, I put it to you for the last time, madam.’