"Sweet mistress," said he, "put out your hand to me; for I can't take it against your will this time. I have got but one arm."
But this she declined. "No, no," said she; "you do nothing but torment and terrify me,—there." And so gave it him; and he mumbled it.
This last feat won her quite. She thought no other man could have got to her there with two arms; and Griffith had done it with one. She said to herself, "How he loves me!—more than his own neck." And then she thought, "I shall be wife to a strong man; that is one comfort."
In this softened mood she asked him demurely, would he take a friend's advice.
"If that friend is you, ay."
"Then," said she, "I'll do a downright brazen thing, now my hand is in. I declare I'll tell you how to secure me. You make me plight my troth with you this minute, and exchange rings with you, whether I like or not; engage my honor in this foolish business, and if you do that, I really do think you will have me in spite of them all. But there,—la!—am I worth all this trouble?"
Griffith did not share this chilling doubt. He poured forth his gratitude, and then told her he had got his mother's ring in his pocket; "I meant to ask you to wear it," said he.
"And why didn't you?"
"Because you became an heiress all of a sudden."
"Well, what signifies which of us has the dross, so that there is enough for both?"