"Let me go!" she said; "you are too rough, sir!"
"Ay!" he said, seizing now both her hands, "rougher, perhaps, than the
gay gallants of Bideford, who serenade you, and write sonnets to you,
and send you posies. Rougher, but more loving, Rose! Do not turn away!
I shall die if you take your eyes off me! Tell me,--tell me, now
here--this moment--before we part--if I may love you!"
"Go away!" she answered, struggling, and bursting into tears. "This is
too rude. If I am but a merchant's daughter. I am God's child. Remember
that I am alone. Leave me; go! or I will call for help!"
Eustace had heard or read somewhere that such expressions in a woman's
mouth were mere facons de parler, and on the whole signs that she had no
objection to be alone, and did not intend to call for help; and he only
grasped her hands the more fiercely, and looked into her face with keen
and hungry eyes; but she was in earnest, nevertheless, and a loud shriek
made him aware that, if he wished to save his own good name, he must
go: but there was one question, for an answer to which he would risk his
very life.
"Yes, proud woman! I thought so! Some one of those gay gallants has been
beforehand with me. Tell me who--"
But she broke from him, and passed him, and fled down the lane.
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