“Dear, better coil that up an’ sit upon it. The frost’ll strike a chill into thee.”
With this she resumed her old attitude by the tiller. Her eyes were fixed ahead, her gaze passing just over the minister’s hat. When he glanced up he saw the rime twinkling on her shoulders and the starshine in her dark eyes. Around them the firmament blazed with constellations, up to its coping. Never had the minister seen them so multitudinous or so resplendent. Never before had heaven seemed so alive to him. He could almost hear it breathe. And beneath it the little boat raced eastward, with the reef-points pattering on its tan sails.
Neither spoke. For the most part the minister avoided the girl’s eyes, and sat nursing his wrath. The whole affair was ludicrous; but it meant the sudden ruin of his good name, at the very start of his career. This was the word he kept grinding between his teeth: “ruin,” “ruin.” Whenever it pleased this madwoman to set him ashore he must write to Deacon Snowden for his boxes and resign all connection with Troy. But would he ever get rid of the scandal? Could he ever be sure that, to whatever distance he might flee, it would not follow him? Had he not better abandon his calling once and for all? It was hard!
A star shot down from the Milky Way and disappeared in darkness behind the girl’s shoulder. His eyes, following it, encountered hers. She left the tiller and came slowly forward.
“In three minutes we’ll open Plymouth Sound,” she said, quietly; and then, with a sharp gesture, flung both arms out towards him. “Oh, lad, think better o’t, an’ turn back wi’ me. Say you’ll marry me, for I’m perishin’ o’ love.”
The moonshine fell on her throat and extended arms. Her lips were parted, her head was thrown back a little, and for the first time the young minister saw that she was a beautiful woman.
“Ay, look, look at me,” she pleaded. “That’s what I’ve wanted ’ee to do all along. Take my hands; they’m shapely to look at and strong to work for ’ee.”
Hardly knowing what he did, the young man took them; then in a moment he let them go—but too late; they were about his neck.
With that he sealed his fate for good or ill. He bent forward a little, and their lips met.
So steady was the wind that the boat still held on her course; but no sooner had the girl received the kiss that she knew to be a binding promise than she dropped her arms, walked off, and shifted the helm.