Not until the evening of the next day did I get five minutes talk with Anna, who avoided me with astonishing skill; but, by Martha's help, I contrived to meet her as she came out of a house which was used as a hospital for sick and wounded Dutchmen. Even then she tried to escape me, but I would take no nay. She must go with me where there might be a talk without interruption, and that was on the river. When she had yielded, and we had got into a boat, she began to speak of her hope that the feud between the Dutch and the Islonians might be abated by a measure agreed upon at the council held the previous evening. Large pay was to be offered to such of the natives as could be induced to labour in cutting trenches, rearing embankments and carrying material. If the labour should not be directly profitable, the employment of it might help toward more amicable feeling. I suffered her to speak on, well knowing who had advised this course, until we came to a broad water with a small bank in mid-stream, on which grew an old birch tree. I ran the boat close under the tree, gave the painter a twist or two round an overhanging bough, shipped the oars, and took my turn to speak. "The questions between Dutch and Islonians will keep, but not the question between us two. You know I love you, Anna. I can't tell you so in fine language, but never man loved woman more since the beginning of the world, or ever will to the end of it. I am a plain, rough fellow, and I have nothing to offer you but my love--not money, or land, or rank, or anything; but I will make or cut my way to something, please God, if you will come to me when I've done it. I think you love me, but you have never said so. Say 'I love you, Frank,' and----" She stopped my long speech with one word--"Cruel!" and burst into weeping. Then I nearly capsized the boat. It was a slight crazy thing, and my weight considerable, but I scrambled to her side, and, putting my arm round her, drew her head on to my breast. She did not see how narrowly we escaped an overturn, nor did she resist my embrace, but went on sobbing, as though her heart would break. Then I found out that one can be heavenly happy and full of sorrow at the same time, for every sob of hers seemed to tear my bosom, while I knew not how to contain my joy. When she had recovered breath a little, she made as if to withdraw herself, but that I would not allow. "But, Frank, I shall be doubly, trebly perjured, and grieve and shame my father beyond endurance." "Say 'I love you, Frank,'" I insisted.