e one fine morning and said:

'Listen to me, Kate, and do not reply hastily. I came here, not like
many others, attracted by your beautiful eyes, but because I wished
to obtain recruits for an approaching voyage which I expected to
undertake at my own risk and peril. I do not know how it has happened,
but I now think less about sailing; I seem to be stumbling over roots.
Right or wrong, I imagine that a good little wife, who will fill my
glass while I am tranquilly smoking my pipe before a blazing fire, may
have as many charms as the best brig in which one may sometimes perish
with hunger and thirst. Right or wrong, I imagine to myself again that
the prattle of two or three little monkeys around me, may be as
agreeable as the sound of the wind howling through the masts, or of
Spanish balls whistling about one's ears. All this, Kate, signifies
that I mean to marry; and who do you suppose has put this pretty whim
into my head? who, but yourself?'

Catherine uttered an exclamation of surprise, perfectly sincere, for
if she had expected a declaration, it was certainly not from this
quarter.

'Do not reply to me yet,' hastily resumed the sailor; 'he who
pronounces his decree before he has heard the pleader and maturely
reflected on the case, is a poor judge. To continue then. You are no
longer a child, Kate, and I am no longer a young man; you are
approaching thirty----'

At these words the pretty Kitty made a gesture of surprise and of
denial.

'Do not reply to me!' repeated the pitiless sailor. 'You are thirty!
I have already passed another barrier, but not long since. We are
of suitable age for each other. The man should always have traversed
the road before his companion. You are active and genteel; that does
very well for women. You have always been an honest girl, that is
better still. As for me, my skin is not so white as yours, but it is
the fault of a tropic sun. It is possible that I may be a little
disfigured by the scar on my cheek; but of this scar I am proud; I had
the honor of receiving it, while boarding a vessel, from the hand of
the celebrated Jean Bart, who, after having on that occasion lost a
fine opportunity of being honorably killed, has just suffered himself
to die of a stupid pleurisy; but it is not of him but of myself that
we are now to speak. After having fought with Jean Bart, I have made a
voyage with our not less celebrated William Dampier, whom I may dare
call my friend. You may therefo