"Then there won't be any difficulty about fitting you with a husband," said Wenna with a light laugh.
Here Mabyn once more went on ahead, picking her steps through the damp grass as she made her way down to the stream. Wenna was still in the highest of spirits.
"Walking the plank yet, boatswain?" she called out.
"Not yet, sir," Mabyn called in return. "Ship wearing round a point to the west, and the waves running mountains high. Don't you hear 'em, captain?"
"Look out for the breakers, boatswain."
"Ay, ay, sir. All hands on deck to man the captain's gig! Belay away there! Avast! Mind, Wenna, here's the bridge."
Crossing over that single plank in the dead of night was a sufficiently dangerous experiment, but both these young ladies had had plenty of experience in keeping their wits about them in more perilous places.
"Why are you in such a hurry, Mabyn?" Wenna asked when they had crossed.
Mabyn did not know what to answer: she was very much excited, and inclined to talk at random merely to cover her anxiety. She was now very late for the appointment, and who could tell what unfortunate misadventure Harry Trelyon might have met with?
"Oh, I don't know," she said. "Why don't you admire young Lochinvar? Wenna, you're like the Laodiceans."