“Till thou give in to me. We’m goin’ straight t’wards Plymouth now, an’ if th’ wind holds—as ’twill—we’ll be off the Rame in two hours. If you haven’t said me yes by that, maybe we’ll go on; or perhaps we’ll run across to the coast o’ France——”
“Girl, do you know that if I’m not back by daybreak I’m ruined?”
“And oh, man, man! can’t ’ee see that I’m ruined, too, if I turn back without your word? How shall I show my face in Troy streets again, tell me?”
At this sudden transference of responsibility the minister staggered.
“You should have thought of that before,” he said, employing the one obvious answer.
“O’ course I thought of it. But for love o’ you I made up my mind to risk it. An’ now there’s no goin’ back.” She paused a moment and then added, as a thought struck her, “Why, lad, doesn’t that prove I love ’ee uncommon?”
“I prefer not to consider the question. Once more—will you go back?”
“I can’t.”
He bit his lips and moved forward to the cuddy, on the roof of which he seated himself sulkily. The girl tossed him an end of rope.