“Why, to tell you the truth, Belle, it’s my way; and I have dealt with you just as I would with . . .”

“A hard-mouthed jade,” said Belle, “and you practising your horse-witchery upon her.  I have been of an unsubdued spirit, I acknowledge, but I was always kind to you; and if you have made me cry, it’s a poor thing to boast of.”

“Boast of!” said I; “a pretty thing indeed to boast of; I had no idea of making you cry.  Come, I beg your pardon; what more can I do?  Come, cheer up, Belle.  You were talking of parting; don’t let us part, but depart, and that together.”

“Our ways lie different,” said Belle.

“I don’t see why they should,” said I.  “Come, let us be off to America together!”

“To America together?” said Belle, looking full at me.

“Yes,” said I; “where we will settle down in some forest, and conjugate the verb siriel conjugally.”

“Conjugally?” said Belle.

“Yes,” said I; “as man and wife in America, air yew ghin.”

“You are jesting, as usual,” said Belle.

“Not I, indeed.  Come, Belle, make up your mind, and let us be off to America; and leave priests, humbug, learning, and languages behind us.”

“I don’t think you arc jesting,” said Belle; “but I can hardly entertain your offers; however, young man, I thank you.”

“You had better make up your mind at once,” said I, “and let us be off.  I shan’t make a bad husband, I assure you.  Perhaps you think I am not worthy of you?  To convince you, Belle, that I am, I am ready to try a fall with you this moment upon the grass.  Brynhilda, the valkyrie, swore that no one should marry her who could not fling her down.  Perhaps you have done the same.  The man who eventually married her, got a friend of his, who was called Sigurd, the serpent-killer, to wrestle with her, disguising him in his own armour.  Sigurd flung her down, and won her for his friend, though he loved her himself.  I shall not use a similar deceit, nor employ Jasper Petulengro to personate me—­so get up, Belle, and I will do my best to fling you down.”

“I require no such thing of you, or anybody,” said Belle; “you are beginning to look rather wild.”

“I every now and then do,” said I; “come, Belle, what do you say?”

“I will say nothing at present on the subject,” said Belle; “I must have time to consider.”

“Just as you please,” said I; “to-morrow I go to a fair with Mr. Petulengro, perhaps you will consider whilst I am away.  Come, Belle, let us have some more tea.  I wonder whether we shall be able to procure tea as good as this in the American forest.”

CHAPTER XXXI.—­THE DAWN OF DAY—­THE LAST FAREWELL—­DEPARTURE FOR THE FAIR—­THE FINE HORSE—­RETURN TO THE DINGLE—­NO ISOPEL.