“Me! Far enough from Good Hope you would be, if only poor Katrine brought you here. Confess, now, you have other business?”
“Of course; I said so. _Plenty_ of business, and you must help me, Katrine. But first, tell me what you meant by saying I should have something besides my head broken?”
“No, dat ain’t much, or you wouldn’t risk it so many times every day. I tell you to go away.”
“Then I won’t go. I am not going to run away from a shadow.”
“Dis no shadow; you will be taken as a spy.”
“Sho; we ain’t at war with the Dutch. No saying how soon we may be, though; besides, I don’t mind telling you that I have been before the commandant to-day, and was pretty thoroughly searched, too. What does it matter? They didn’t find any thing, though. Where is your cousin?”
“I knew you would come to that, Boston; but it is no use. I won’t—I _won’t_—I WON’T! You needn’t ask me.”
“You won’t—you _won’t_—you WON’T! and I needn’t ask you. That’s pretty strong. Pray, before you refuse any thing, wait till you are asked. Do you think I want to hurt your cousin?”
“I don’t know,” sobbed poor Katrine, “I don’t think you would; but I love my cousin.”
“I love her just as every man who ever saw her loves her, as I love a beautiful picture or a clear night, or as something holy and pure, entirely beyond my reach. As a lovely piece of God’s handiwork, I admire her—but she would not do for every-day use. I have some one in my mind who would suit me better.”
“I don’t like to tell; you might not like it.”
“Never mind,” said she, struggling away from him. “Don’t touch me again; I don’t want to know her name.”
“Oh, but you must hear it,” replied the other, “I’ll tell it now, just to spite you. Her name is—”
“I won’t hear,” cried the girl, putting her fingers in her ears—“I won’t hear. Don’t you try for to tell me.”
“She is a pretty girl, I tell you,” said Boston, with a malicious twinkle in his eyes, “and you don’t know how I love her—you don’t want to hear her name?”
“No,” said Katrine, with a quiver of the lip, “I won’t hear it.”
“I’ve a good mind not to tell you, though I know you are dying to hear it. Yes, I will; her name is—” Katrine took her fingers partly out of her ears.
“A Dutch one,” went on Bainbridge. The girl again stopped her ears.