o Jamaica, and then to leave you alone?"

"Oh no. He wants me to go with him to Jamaica."

Mabyn uttered a short cry of alarm: "To Jamaica! To take you away from
the whole of us! Why--Oh, Wenna, I do hate being a girl so, for you're
not allowed to swear! If I were a man now! To Jamaica! Why don't you
know that there are hundreds of people always being killed there by the
most frightful hurricanes and earthquakes and large serpents in the
woods? To Jamaica! No, you are not going to Jamaica just yet. I don't
think you are going to Jamaica just yet."

"No, indeed, I am not," said Wenna with a quiet decision. "Nor could I
think of getting married in any case at present. But then--don't you
see, Mabyn?--Mr. Roscorla is just a little peculiar in some ways--"

"Yes, certainly."

"--and he likes to have a definite reason for what you do. If I were to
tell him of the repugnance I have to the notion of getting married just
now, he would call it mere sentiment, and try to argue me out of it:
then we should have a quarrel. But if, as you say, a girl may fairly
refuse in point of time--"

"Now, I'll tell you," said Mabyn plainly: "no girl can get married
properly who hasn't six months to get ready in. She might manage in
three or four months for a man she was particularly fond of; but if it
is a mere stranger, and a disagreeable person, and one who ought not to
marry her at all, then six months is the very shortest time. Just you
send Mr. Roscorla to me and I'll tell him all about it."

Wenna laughed: "Yes, I've no doubt you would. I think, he's more afraid
of you than of all the serpents and snakes in Jamaica."

"Yes, and he'll have more cause to be before he's much older," said
Mabyn confidently.

They could not continue their conversation just then, for they were
going down the side of the hill between short trees and bushes, and the
path was only broad enough for one, while there were many dark places
demanding caution.

"Seen any ghosts yet?" Wenna called out to Mabyn, who was behind her.

"Ghosts, sir? Ay, ay, sir! Heave away on the larboard beam. I say,
Wenna, isn't it uncommon dark?"

"It is uncommonly dark?"

"Gentlemen always say uncommon, and all the grammars are written by
gentlemen. Oh, Wenna, wait a bit: I've lost my brooch."

It was no _ruse_, for a wonder: the brooch had indeed dropped out of her
shawl. She felt all over the dark ground for it, but her search was in
vain.

"Well, here's a nice thin