Dan. Ay, ay, lass—go on——
Dor. He loveth me very dearly, father, and will quit the sea to bide with us here.
Dan. Go on——
Dor. He loveth me so dearly that it would sadden his life if I were to wed with another.
Dan. Well?
Dor. So, dear father, as I would not cause him sorrow I will not wed with another. (Hiding her face on his shoulder.)
Dan. So soon! so soon! Nay, hang there a bit longer, my lass; for thou’rt all I have, and thou’rt going from me ower soon, and of thine own free will. Dorothy, oh, Dorothy, the hope and stay of my poor old life! my saving angel! my saving angel! It’s hard to part with thee, Dorothy. He will not love thee as I love thee. (With an effort.) I’m but a thankless man. It was to be, and ’twould better fit me to rejoice that thou hast found a brave and honest man to tend thee when I am gone. Get thee within, and dry thine eyes. I’ll do thy weeping for thee, Dorothy! (Exit Dorothy into the cottage.) It’s come sudden, my lad, it’s come sudden, and I doan’t rightly know how to shift wi’out her. She’s been more than life to me, Dolly has. I was a hard and bitter man when she was left with me fourteen year since,—for I’d been cruelly warped—cruelly warped. But when things are at their worst, like as not they’ll mend; and from the time my darling was sent to me (by a miracle as I then thought, for I’d been brought up ’mong folk as see a miracle in ’most everything) a change crep’ over me, and bit by bit my cruel old heart growed soft again. I was a foul-tongued fellow then, but I couldna swear afore an angel come straight from heaven. I was cruel and hard, but I couldna sit glowerin’ at mankind wi’ her little arms round my neck, and her soft cheek agin’ my wicked old face. Then it come about that Dolly must be taught her Bible; but I’d no Bible—so, wi’ a shamefaced lie on my tongue, I borrowed a good book, and we spelt it out together. And many’s the time as the old half-forgotten words come back to me, bit by bit, and I called to mind when I’d first learnt ’em as a child. I laid my head down on the book, and wept like a woman. And as it was for me (God help me!) to teach her right from wrong, I learnt as I taught, and the Light come to us together—the old man and the little child—and as she growed in knowledge, my right self growed in strength—and such as I am—hale, hearty, and happy—livin’ by the sweat o’ my brow—owin’ no man, fearin’ none, and lovin’ all, why she has made me, God bless her!
Geof. And thou hast never seen her father since?
Dan. No; though for years I never passed a strange face but I peered into it—for I knowed every line o’ his, though I never heerd his name. Knowed it! Why, it burnt in my eyeballs, so that I see it in the dark! I seed it everywhere—I seed it in the forge, and be sure I raked it out!—I seed it red-hot on my anvil, and be sure I hammered with a will! After a while (but it was a weary while!) the thought come that mayhap he had perished in the gale, so I thought less about it; and Dolly seemed more like my own. Yet the old fear comes back, odd times, and, oh, Geoffrey, it’s like enough she’ll be taken from me yet.