Kit. Hark, here he is! By George, it’s neck or nothing now. Stand by to back me up.
SCENE III
To these, Gaunt, C.
Kit (with Arethusa’s hand). Captain Gaunt, I have come to ask you for your daughter.
Gaunt. Hum. (He sits in his chair, L.)
Kit. I love her, and she loves me, sir. I’ve left the privateering. I’ve enough to set me up and buy a tidy sloop—Jack Lee’s; you know the boat, Captain; clinker built, not four years old, eighty tons burthen, steers like a child. I’ve put my mother’s ring on Arethusa’s finger; and if you’ll give us your blessing, I’ll engage to turn over a new leaf, and make her a good husband.
Gaunt. In whose strength, Christopher French?
Kit. In the strength of my good, honest love for her: as you did for her mother, and my father for mine. And you know, Captain, a man can’t command the wind; but (excuse me, sir) he can always lie the best course possible, and that’s what I’ll do, so God help me.
Gaunt. Arethusa, you at least are the child of many prayers; your eyes have been unsealed; and to you the world stands naked, a morning watch for duration, a thing spun of cobwebs for solidity. In the presence of an angry God, I ask you: have you heard this man?
Arethusa. Father, I know Kit, and I love him.