“There!” whispered he, trembling from head to foot.  “Can you excuse me now?”

“I had excused you long ago;” said the kindhearted father.  “Alas, that so much fair red and white should have been created only as a feast for worms!”

“A feast for gods, you mean!” cried Eustace, on whose common sense the naive absurdity of the last speech struck keenly; and then, as if to escape the scolding which he deserved for his heathenry—­

“Will you let me return for a moment?  I will follow you:  let me go!”

Campian saw that it was of no use to say no, and nodded.  Eustace darted from his side, and running across a field, met Rose full at the next turn of the road.

She started, and gave a pretty little shriek.

“Mr. Leigh!  I thought you had gone forward.”

“I came back to speak to you, Rose—­Mistress Salterne, I mean.”

“To me?”

“To you I must speak, tell you all, or die!” And he pressed up close to her.  She shrank back, somewhat frightened.

“Do not stir; do not go, I implore you!  Rose, only hear me!” And fiercely and passionately seizing her by the hand, he poured out the whole story of his love, heaping her with every fantastic epithet of admiration which he could devise.

There was little, perhaps, of all his words which Rose had not heard many a time before; but there was a quiver in his voice, and a fire in his eye, from which she shrank by instinct.

“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.

“Mark it!” cried he, after her.  “You shall rue the day when you despised Eustace Leigh!  Mark it, proud beauty!” And he turned back to join Campian, who stood in some trepidation.