“There’s no such place. There’s nobody ill at all. I told you a lie.”
“You told me a lie—then why in the name of common sense am I here?”
“Because, young minister—because, sir, I’m sick o’ love for you, an’ I want ’ee to marry me.”
“Great heaven!” the young minister muttered, recoiling, “is the girl mad?”
“Ah, but look at me, sir.” She seemed to grow still taller as she stood there, resting one hand on the tiller and looking at him with perfectly serious eyes. “Look at me well before your fancy lights ’pon some other o’ the girls. To-morrow they’ll be all after ’ee, an’ this’ll be my only chance; for my father’s no better’n a plain fisherman, an’ they’re all above me in money an’ rank. I be but a common Ruan girl, an’ my family is counted for naught. But look at me well; there’s none stronger nor comelier, nor that’ll love thee so dear!”
The young man positively gasped. “Set me ashore at once!” he commanded, stamping his foot.
“Nay, that I will not till thou promise, an’ that’s flat. Dear lad, listen—an’ consent, consent—an’ I swear to thee thou’ll never be sorry for’t.”
“I never heard such awful impropriety in my life. Turn back; I order you to steer back to the harbor at once!”
She shook her head. “No, lad, I won’t. An’ what’s more, you don’t know how to handle a boat, an’ couldn’t get back by yoursel’, not in a month.”
“This is stark madness. You—you abandoned woman, how long do you mean to keep me here?”