She looked down at me where I lay with those innocent eyes of hers, that always looked into mine as frankly as a child's would.
"I'm not sure," I continued, "that I sha'n't commence making love to you, and perhaps I might marry you. What would you think of that?"
"Love!" she laughed, as musically as a sea-nymph—"love? Love betwixt a cousin and a cousin? Preposterous!"
"I daresay," I said, pretending to pout, "you wouldn't marry me because I'm poor."
"Poor!" she repeated, looking very firm and earnest now; "if the man I loved were poor, I'd carry a creel for him—I'd gather shells for his sake; but I don't love anybody and don't mean to. Come."
So that was the beginning and end of my love-making for Cousin Maggie.
And Maggie had said she never meant to love any one. Well, we never can tell what may be in our immediate future.
Hardly had we left the cave that day, and put off from the shore, ere cat's-paws began to ruffle the water. They came in from the west, and before we had got half-way to the distant headland a steady breeze was blowing. We had hoisted our sail, and were running before it with the speed of a gull on the wing.
Once round the point, we had a beam wind till we entered the fiord, then we had to beat to windward all the way home, by which time it was blowing quite a gale.
It went round more to the north about sunset, and then, for the first time, we noticed a yacht of small dimensions on the distant horizon. Her intention appeared to be that of rounding the island, and probably anchoring on the lee side of it. She was in an ugly position, however, and we all watched her anxiously till nightfall hid her from our view.