KIT. Well, and that’s my motto. I’ve left the ship; no more letter of marque for me. Good-bye to Kit French, privateersman’s mate; and how-d’ye-do to Christopher, the coasting skipper. I’ve seen the very boat for me: I’ve enough to buy her, too; and to furnish a good house, and keep a shot in the locker for bad luck. So far, there’s nothing to gainsay. So far it’s hopeful enough; but still there’s Admiral Guinea, you know—and the plain truth is that I’m afraid of him. ARETHUSA. Admiral Guinea? Now Kit, if you are to be true lover of mine, you shall not use that name. His name is Captain Gaunt. As for fearing him, Kit French, you’re not the man for me, if you fear anything but sin. He’s a stern man because he’s in the right. KIT. He is a man of God; I am what he calls a child of perdition. I was a privateersman—serving my country, I say; but he calls it pirate. He is thrifty and sober; he has a treasure, they say, and it lies so near his heart that he tumbles up in his sleep to stand watch over it. What has a harum-scarum dog like me to expect from a man like him? He won’t see I’m starving for a chance to mend; ‘Mend,’ he’ll say; ‘I’ll be shot if you mend at the expense of my daughter;’ and the worst of it is, you see, he’ll be right. ARETHUSA. Kit, if you dare to say that faint-hearted word again, I’ll take my ring off. What are we here for but to grow better or grow worse? Do you think Arethusa French will be the same as Arethusa Gaunt? KIT. I don’t want her better. ARETHUSA. Ah, but she shall be! KIT. Hark, here he is! By George, it’s neck or nothing now. Stand by to back me up. SCENE III _To these_, GAUNT, _C._ KIT (_with_ ARETHUSA’S _hand_). Captain Gaunt, I have come to ask you for your daughter. GAUNT. Hum. (_He sits in his chair_, _L._) KIT. I love her, and she loves me, sir. I’ve left the privateering. I’ve enough to set me up and buy a tidy sloop—Jack Lee’s; you know the boat, Captain; clinker built, not four years old, eighty tons burthen, steers like a child. I’ve put my mother’s ring on Arethusa’s finger; and if you’ll give us your blessing, I’ll engage to turn over a new leaf, and make her a good husband. GAUNT. In whose strength, Christopher French? KIT. In the strength of my good, honest love for her: as you did for her mother, and my father for mine. And you know, Captain, a man can’t command the wind; but (excuse me, sir) he can always lie the best course possible, and that’s what I’ll do, so God help me. GAUNT. Arethusa, you at least are the child of many prayers; your eyes have been unsealed; and to you the world stands naked, a morning watch for duration, a thing spun of cobwebs for solidity. In the presence of an angry God, I ask you: have you heard this man? ARETHUSA. Father, I know Kit, and I love him.