“Sho; we ain’t at war with the Dutch. No saying how soon we may be, though; besides, I don’t mind telling you that I have been before the commandant to-day, and was pretty thoroughly searched, too. What does it matter? They didn’t find any thing, though. Where is your cousin?”
“I knew you would come to that, Boston; but it is no use. I won’t—I won’t—I WON’T! You needn’t ask me.”
“You won’t—you won’t—you WON’T! and I needn’t ask you. That’s pretty strong. Pray, before you refuse any thing, wait till you are asked. Do you think I want to hurt your cousin?”
“I don’t know,” sobbed poor Katrine, “I don’t think you would; but I love my cousin.”
“So do I!”
“What!”
“I love her just as every man who ever saw her loves her, as I love a beautiful picture or a clear night, or as something holy and pure, entirely beyond my reach. As a lovely piece of God’s handiwork, I admire her—but she would not do for every-day use. I have some one in my mind who would suit me better.”
“Who?” asked Katrine, quickly.
“I don’t like to tell; you might not like it.”