“No, no,” said Harry, “you go back, as you must be in at luncheon, and I will take care of the little girl.”
“Thank you, thank you,” repeated Maiden May, “but I am not afraid.”
Harry, however, with true chivalry, though the object of his attention was but a little fisher-girl, insisted on escorting her, and at length induced his sister and her governess to return, promising to hurry back as soon as he had placed the child under Dame Halliburt’s care.
They soon found the style which led into the path May should have followed. She took Harry’s hand without hesitation, and as she ran along by his side, prattled with a freedom which perfect confidence could alone have given her. She talked of the time he had been off in the Nancy, and how anxious she had felt lest any harm should befall the boat.
“And you are very fond of the sea?” she said, looking up in his face.
“Yes; I am a sailor, and it is my duty to go to sea, and I love it for itself,” said Harry; “I hope as you live close to it that you love it too.”
“Oh no, no, no,” answered May; “I do not love it, for it’s so cruel, it drowns so many people. I can’t love what is cruel.”
“It could not be cruel to you, I am sure,” said Harry. “Does your father ever take you in his boat?”
“Yes, I have been in the boat, I know, but it was a long, long time ago, and I have been on the sea far, far away.”
She stopped as if she had too indistinct a recollection of the events that had occurred to describe them.