“Pray, cousin,” says she, with a sound as of a sob in her voice, “an’t you a little hard towards a person that can scarce have injured you? Sure the poor man’s happiness need not inconvenience you, nor far less cause you perpetual misery.” “Nay, Dorothy,” I cried, amazed at her misreading of me, “you are unjust towards me, and to clear myself I must needs reveal that which I had determined to keep hid. At least pity me, for though I have wronged you, yet now I am punished for’t. If I have despised you in my blindness, I have learned to love you when too late, and have been given to know my love in vain. The victory lies with you, cousin, only use it mercifully. ’Tis my desire to show myself not unworthy of loving you, and I would not prove a churl. I hope yet to see you happily wedded to your servant, and settled here at Ellswether, if this should please you, for I purpose returning again to East India.” “Ned, my dear cousin!” she cried, turning upon me her eyes full of tears, “but why not remain here?” “Nay,” said I, “I an’t a stone, Dorothy, and I fear lest my melancholical humour should cloud your happiness. But let that pass. You know, cousin, that though I han’t any real authority over you, yet in the eyes of the world I am your guardian, and that it rests with me to order all things with your servant. Tell me his name, then, if you please, that so I may have some commerce with him.” “But that I can’t tell you--no, never,” says Dorothy, beginning to twist the edge of her scarf with her fingers. “An’t this an excess of sensibility, cousin?” said I. “But how can I?” says she, very red. “Sure you are too hard upon me, Cousin Ned. A plague on all those good people that meddle in my matters! Here’s a pretty pass they have brought me to.” “Surely, cousin,” said I, “only his name, to give me to know who he is?” “Ask yourself, sir,” says Dorothy, and runs away from me, leaving me as much at a loss as ever. And no further occasion did she vouchsafe me for to inquire of her, for she was among the maids all morning, and at dinner she sat with eyes cast down and blushing face, nor never looked at me once, so that after I did go out in despair. CHAPTER XVIII. OF MY ATTAINING MY DESIRED HAVEN AFTER LONG TRIAL OF STORMY SEAS.