As soon as Catriona came a little to herself she unhanded me suddenly, but said no word. No more did I; and indeed the whistling of the wind and the breaching of the sprays made it no time for speech; and our crew not only toiled excessively but made extremely little way, so that the _Rose_ had got her anchor and was off again before we had approached the harbour mouth. We were no sooner in smooth water than the patroon, according to their beastly Hollands custom, stopped his boat and required of us our fares. Two guilders was the man’s demand—between three and four shillings English money—for each passenger. But at this Catriona began to cry out with a vast deal of agitation. She had asked of Captain Sang, she said, and the fare was but an English shilling. “Do you think I will have come on board and not ask first?” cries she. The patroon scolded back upon her in a lingo where the oaths were English and the rest right Hollands; till at last (seeing her near tears) I privately slipped in the rogue’s hand six shillings, whereupon he was obliging enough to receive from her the other shilling without more complaint. No doubt I was a good deal nettled and ashamed. I like to see folk thrifty, but not with so much passion; and I daresay it would be rather coldly that I asked her, as the boat moved on again for shore, where it was that she was trysted with her father. “He is to be inquired of at the house of one Sprott, an honest Scotch merchant,” says she; and then with the same breath, “I am wishing to thank you very much—you are a brave friend to me.” “It will be time enough when I get you to your father,” said I, little thinking that I spoke so true. “I can tell him a fine tale of a loyal daughter.” “O, I do not think I will be a loyal girl, at all events,” she cried, with a great deal of painfulness in the expression. “I do not think my heart is true.” “Yet there are very few that would have made that leap, and all to obey a father’s orders,” I observed. “I cannot have you to be thinking of me so,” she cried again. “When you had done that same, how would I stop behind? And at all events that was not all the reasons.” Whereupon, with a burning face, she told me the plain truth upon her poverty. “Good guide us!” cried I, “what kind of daft-like proceeding is this, to let yourself be launched on the continent of Europe with an empty purse—I count it hardly decent—scant decent!” I cried. “You forget James More, my father, is a poor gentleman,” said she. “He is a hunted exile.”