Old Fires and Profitable Ghosts: A Book of StoriesQuiller-Couch, Arthur
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Old Fires and Profitable Ghosts: A Book of Stories
Quiller-Couch, Arthur
Great Britain -- Social life and customs -- 19th century -- Fiction; Short stories
Outside, the sea lay as smooth as within the harbour. The wind blew
steadily off the shore, so that, close-hauled, one might fetch up or
down Channel with equal ease. The girl began to flatten the sails, and
asked her companion to bear a hand. Their hands met over a rope, and
the man noted with surprise that the girl's was feverishly hot.
Then she brought the boat's nose round to the eastward and, heeling
gently over the dark water, they began to skirt the misty coast with the
breeze on their left cheeks.
"How much farther?" asked the minister.
She nodded towards the first point in the direction of Plymouth.
He turned his coat-collar up about his ears and wondered if his duty
would often take him on such journeys as this. Also he felt thankful
that the sea was smooth. He might, or might not, be given to
sea-sickness: but somehow he was sincerely glad that he had not to be
put to the test for the first time in this girl's presence.
They passed the small headland and still the boat held on its way.
"I had no idea you were going to take me this distance. Didn't you
promise me the house lay just beyond the point we've just passed?"
To his amazement the girl drew herself up, looked him straight in the
face and said--
"There's no such place."
"_What?_"
"There's no such place. There's nobody ill at all. I told you a lie."
"You told me a lie--then why in the name of common sense am I here?"
"Because, young man--because, sir, I'm sick o' love for you, an' I
want'ee to marry me."
"Great heaven!" the young minister muttered, recoiling. "Is the girl
mad?"
"Ah, but look at me, sir!" She seemed to grow still taller as she stood
there, resting one hand on the tiller and gazing at him with perfectly
serious eyes. "Look at me well before you take up with some other o'
the girls. To-morrow they'll be all after 'ee, an' this'll be my only
chance; for my father's no better'n a plain fisherman, an' they're all
above me in money an' rank. I be but a Ruan girl, an' my family is
naught. But look at me well; there's none stronger nor comelier, nor
that'll love thee so dear!"
The young man gasped. "Set me ashore at once!" he commanded, stamping
his foot.
"Nay, that I will not till thou promise, an' that's flat. Dear lad,
listen--an' consent, consent--an' I swear to thee thou'll never be sorry
for't."
"I never heard such awful impropriety in my life. Turn back; I order
you to steer back to the harbour at once!"
She shook her head. "No, lad; I won't. An' what's more, you don't know
how to handle a boat, an' couldn't get back by yoursel', not in a
month."
"This is stark madness. You--you abandoned woman, how long do you mean
to keep me here?"
"Till thou give in to me. We'm goin' straight t'wards Plymouth now, an'
if th' wind holds--as 'twill--we'll be off the Rame in two hours.
If you haven't said me yes by that maybe we'll go on; or perhaps we'll
run across to the coast o' France--"
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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