Now on hearing this Suzanne said, “Oh!” and sank back in her chair as though she were going to faint; but I burst out laughing, half because Ralph’s impertinence tickled me and half at the sight of my husband’s face. Presently he turned upon me in a fine rage. “Be silent, you silly woman,” he said. “Do you hear what that mad boy says? He says that he wants my daughter.” “Well, what of it?” I answered. “Is there anything wonderful in that? Suzanne is of an age to be married and pretty enough for any young man to want her.” “Yes, yes; that is true now I come to think of it,” said Jan, pulling his beard. “But, woman, he says that he wants to take her away with him.” “Ah!” I replied, “that is another matter. That he shall never do without my consent.” “No, indeed, he shall never do that,” echoed Jan. “Suzanne,” said I in the pause that followed, “you have heard all this talk. Tell us, then, openly what is your mind in the matter.” “My mind is, mother,” she answered very quietly, “that I wish to obey you and my father in all things, as is my duty, but that I have a deeper duty towards Ralph whom God gave me out of the sea. Therefore, if you send away Ralph without a cause, if he desires it I shall follow him as soon as I am of age and marry him, or if you keep me from him by force then I think that I shall die. That is all I have to say.” “And quite enough, too,” I answered, though in my heart I liked the girl’s spirit, and guessed that she was playing a part to prevent her father from sending away Ralph against his will. “All this is pretty hearing,” said Jan, staring from one to the other. “Why, now that I think of it, I never heard that you two were more than brother and sister to each other. Say, you shameless girl, when did all this come about, and why do you dare to promise yourself in marriage without my consent?” “Because there was no time to ask it, father,” said Suzanne, looking down, “for Ralph and I only spoke together this morning.” “He spoke to you this morning, and now it seems that you are ready to forsake your father and your mother and to follow him across the world, you wicked and ungrateful child.” “I am not wicked and I am not ungrateful,” answered Suzanne; “it is you who are wicked, who want to send Ralph away and break all our hearts.” “It is false, miss,” shouted her father in answer, “for you know well that I do not want to send him away.” “Then why did you tell him that he must go and take your roan horse and new hat?” “For his own good, girl.” “Is it for his own good that he should go away from all of us who love him and be lost across the sea?” and choking she burst into tears, while her father muttered: “Why, the girl has become like a tiger, she who was milder than a sheep!”