"You might have had that without risking your life, sir," she responded, smiling.
"Not without risking my heart, I am sure," he replied, gallantly.
"What a strange way you have of addressing people!" she continued, looking at him so frankly and so innocently that he felt ashamed of himself. "Do you always talk in that way?"
"Well, not always," he replied, laughing; "but I jest "
"Oh, it was only a jest, then," she interrupted, her heart sinking faintly.
"But I jest when I should be thanking you for giving me my life," he continued, disregarding her interruption. "You saved my life, Miss I do not know your name."
"I am Emily Sanford, the admiral's granddaughter."
"You saved my life, Miss Sanford."
"I don't believe I've ever been called 'Miss Sanford' in my life. How strange it sounds!" she exclaimed, naïvely. "Everybody here calls me 'Miss Emily.'"
"You will not find me unwilling, I am sure, to adopt the common practice," he exclaimed, lightly. "But, seriously, death never seemed nearer to me than it did last night, and I have been near it before, too. Had it not been for you "
"And Captain Barry," she interrupted, quickly.
"Of course, for him, too, I'd not be here thanking you now."
"But it was nothing, after all; anybody could have done it."
"There I disagree with you. I am sailor enough to know that it was a most desperate undertaking. You put your own life in hazard to save mine. If that old man had relaxed his efforts, if you had made a mistake with those yoke-lines, well, there would have been three of us to go instead of one."
"Oh, hardly that."
"But I know, Miss Emily, and I cannot allow you to disparage your action so. 'Twas a most heroic thing, and I'm not worthy the risk and the effort."
"But you have been with Farragut; you were at Mobile Bay in the Hartford ; you "
"You did not know it then, surely?" in great surprise.
"I did not then; but since I did as you persist in saying save you, I am glad to know it now. But you have not told me your name."
"My name is Richard Revere. I am a lieutenant in the United States navy."
"How did you happen to come here?" curiously.
"I came about the ship."
"The ship?" she cried in alarm. "What of it?"
"I came to inspect it," he answered, evasively, something prompting him that he was getting in dangerous waters.
"Oh!" she exclaimed, greatly relieved; "I thought you might have come to destroy it, or to dispose of it. You see, it would be the death of grandfather if anything should happen to the old ship, and it would kill the old sailor, too; and then what would become of me?"
Her frankness delighted him. An answer trembled on the tip of his tongue, but by a great effort he restrained his inclination and questioned her.
"Have you no relatives, no friends?"
"No relatives at all except grandfather," she answered, freely and frankly. "I have lived here since I was a baby with the admiral and Captain Barry. My mother died when I was an infant, and she was the only child of her mother. I haven't a connection in the world that I know of. Friends? Yes, everybody in the village is a friend of mine; but they are different, you know. I wonder sometimes what will happen when they can't last much longer, you know, but God will take care of me," she continued, simply.
"And I, too," he murmured softly, in spite of himself.
"You!" she cried, surprised, turning her clear, splendid eyes toward him and confronting him in one unabashed glance. "What do you mean? I "
"Never mind, Miss Emily," he answered, recovering himself again; "you are right. God will find some way, I doubt not. I only mean to say that if you ever need a friend, a real friend, you may count upon me and upon my mother. She owes you a son,
you know, and I am sure she would gladly pay her debt in kindness to you."
Dangerous promises, Richard, so far as you are concerned, in spite of Plato; and few men there be who dare assume to speak for a woman, a mother, to a possible daughter-in-law!
His words were simple enough, but there was such intensity in the glance that accompanied them that the girl, innocent though she was, shrank from it, not with fear, but from the old, old instinct of woman that suggests flight when fain to be pursued.
"More of the ship went with the gale last night," she murmured, pointing; "see yonder. I think every gale that comes will be the last of her. Your boat is gone to pieces, too."
"I count it well lost," he replied, softly, "for it has brought me to you."
"You must not say that," she answered, gravely; "and I am forgetting my duty. Breakfast is nearly ready. I came to tell you. Will you come into the house?"
It was not the first time that a maiden forgot her duty even in trifles like this in the presence of a man she was beginning to love, nor would it be the last.
"Did you, then, do me the honor to seek me? I am delighted."
"At the prospect of breakfast?" she asked, smiling at him merrily.
"Of course. Did you ever see a sailor-man who wasn't?"
"The only sailor-men I know are my grandfather and Captain Barry. Grandfather cares nothing about it, but I must say that Captain Barry "