"I am a poor peasant girl," she said, despondingly, "and you will never desire to speak to me more."
"Are my thoughts to be known by yours?" I asked, with a slight smile; "and do you think I cannot see God's bounty to the peasant girl, and love virtue and innocence of heart clothed in any garb?"
"Yes, I think that," she answered, diffidently; "but I am not like those you are wont to converse and dwell with; and when you talk to me, you will learn my ignorance, and you will hate me then. I would have you love me."
"And why," I said, "when you do not know my character, or temper, you would have me love you?"
"That you may accept my love."
"And why yours?"
"Because it was my father's wish," she answered, with the gentleness of the most engaging simplicity of manner, "that I should love all Englishmen."
"I would not have that love," I replied.
She turned round quickly, and looked steadfastly at me; but soon as her gaze met mine, her large, round, languishing blue eye fell, and drooped to the ground.
"Will you not tell me your name?" I said, going nearer to her; "for we shall meet again. Yonder lies the vessel that will bear me from your country, and it is not prepared to move for many days."