aking you cry. Come, I beg your pardon; what more can I do? Come,
cheer up, Belle. You were talking of parting; don't let us part, but
depart, and that together."

"Our ways lie different," said Belle.

"I don't see why they should," said I. "Come, let us be off to America
together."

"To America together?" said Belle, looking full at me.

"Yes," said I; "where we will settle down in some forest, and conjugate
the verb siriel conjugally."

"Conjugally?" said Belle.

"Yes," said I; "as man and wife in America, air yew ghin."

"You are jesting, as usual," said Belle.

"Not I, indeed. Come, Belle, make up your mind, and let us be off to
America; and leave priests, humbug, learning, and languages behind us."

"I don't think you are jesting," said Belle; "but I can hardly entertain
your offers; however, young man, I thank you."

"You had better make up your mind at once," said I, "and let us be off. I
shan't make a bad husband, I assure you. Perhaps you think I am not
worthy of you? To convince you, Belle, that I am, I am ready to try a
fall with you this moment upon the grass. Brynhilda, the valkyrie, swore
that no one should ever marry her who could not fling her down. Perhaps
you have done the same. The man who eventually married her, got a friend
of his, who was called Sygurd, the serpent-killer, to wrestle with her,
disguising him in his own armour. Sygurd flung her down, and won her for
his friend, though he loved her himself. I shall not use a similar
deceit, nor employ Jasper Petulengro to personate me--so get up, Belle,
and I will do my best to fling you down."

"I require no such thing of you, or anybody," said Belle; "you are
beginning to look rather wild."

"I every now and then do," said I; "come, Belle, what do you say?"

"I will say nothing at present on the subject," said Belle, "I must have
time to consider."

"Just as you please," said I, "to-morrow I go to a fair with Mr.
Petulengro, perhaps you will consider whilst I am away. Come, Belle, let
us have some more tea. I wonder whether we shall be able to procure tea
as good as this in the American forest."

CHAPTER XV

The Dawn of Day--The Last Farewell--Departure for the Fair--The Fine
Horse--Return to the Dingle--No Isopel.

It was about the dawn of day when I was awakened by the voice of Mr.
Petulengro shouting from the top of the dingle, and bidding me get up. I
arose instantly, and dressed myself for the expe