tisfy his
love--so much I love him. Davy," she faltered, putting her hands to her
eyes, "I love--I _love_--I love him!"

Ecod! 'Twas too much for me. Half scandalized, I ran away, leaving her
weeping in my dear mother's rocking-chair.

* * * * *

My sister and I were alone at table that evening. The doctor was gone in
the punt to Jolly Harbour, the maids said; but why, they did not know,
for he had not told them--nor could we guess: for 'twas a vexatious
distance, wind and tide what they were, nor would a wise man undertake
it, save in case of dire need, which did not then exist, the folk of
Jolly Harbour, as everybody knows, being incorruptibly healthy. But I
would not go to sleep that night until my peace was made; and though, to
deceive my sister, I went to bed, I kept my eyes wide open, waiting for
the doctor's step on the walk and on the stair: a slow, hopeless
footfall, when, late in the night, I heard it.

I followed him to his room--with much contrite pleading on the tip of my
tongue. And I knocked timidly on the door.

"Come in, Davy," said he.

My heart was swelling so--my tongue so sadly unmanageable--that I could
do nothing but whimper. But----

"I'm wonderful sad, zur," I began, after a time, "t' think that I----"

"Hush!" said he.

'Twas all I said--not for lack of will or words, but for lack of breath
and opportunity; because all at once (and 'twas amazingly sudden) I
found myself caught off my feet, and so closely, so carelessly,
embraced, that I thought I should then and there be smothered: a death
which, as I had been led to believe, my dear sister might have envied
me, but was not at all to my liking. And when I got my breath 'twas but
to waste it in bawling. But never had I bawled to such good purpose: for
every muffled howl and gasp brought me nearer to that state of serenity
from which I had that day cast myself by harsh and willful conduct.

Then--and 'twas not hard to do--I offered my supreme propitiation: which
was now no more a sacrifice, but, rather, a high delight.

"You may have my sister, zur," I sobbed.

He laughed a little--laughed an odd little laugh, the like of which I
had never heard.

"You may have her," I repeated, somewhat impatiently. "Isn't you hearin'
me? I _give_ her to you."

"This is very kind," he said. "But----"

"You're _wantin'_ her, isn't you?" I demanded, fearing for the moment
that he had meantime changed his mind.

"