“I don’t thank you for saying that.  Well, and if she is, what has that to do with it?  I am not a woman.  I am not forced to lie to waiting for a wind, as the girls are.  I am a man.  I can work for the wish of my heart, and, if it does not come to meet me, I can overhaul it.”  Eve was a little staggered by this thrust, but she was not one to show an antagonist any advantage he had obtained.  “David,” said she, coldly, “it must come to one of two things; either she will send you about your business in form, which is a needless affront for you and me both, or she will hold you in hand, and play with you and drive you mad. Take warning; remember what is in our blood.  Father was as well as you are, but agitation and vexation robbed him of his reason for a while; and you and I are his children.  Milk of roses creeps along in that young lady’s veins, but fire gallops in ours.  Give her up, David, as she has you.  She has let you escape; don’t fly back like a moth to the candle!  You shan’t, however; I won’t let you.”

“Eve,” said David, quietly, “you argue well, but you can’t argue light into dark, nor night into day.  She is the sun to me.  I have seen her light; and now I can’t live without it.”

He added, more calmly:  “It is her or none.  I never saw a girl but this that I wanted to see twice, and I never shall.”

“But it is that which frightens me for you, David.  Often I have wished I could see you flirt a bit and harden your heart.”

“And break some poor girl’s.”

“Oh, hang them! they always contrive to pass it on.  What do I care for girls! they are not my brother.  But no, David, I can’t believe you will go against me and my judgment after the insult she has put on you.  No more about it, but just you choose between my respect and this wild-goose chase.”

“I choose both,” said David, quietly.  “Both you shan’t have”; and, with this, up bounced Eve, and stood before him bristling like a cat-o’mountain.  David tried to soothe her—­to coax her—­in vain; her cheek was on fire, and her eyes like basilisks’.  It was a picture to see the pretty little fury stand so erect and threatening, great David so humble and deprecating, yet so dogged.  At last he took out his knife; it was not one of your stabbing-knives, but the sort of pruning-knife that no sailor went without in those days.  “Now,” said he, sadly, “take and cut my head off—­cut me to pieces, if you will—­I won’t wince or complain; and then you will get your way; but while I do live I shall love her, and I can’t afford to lose her by sitting twiddling my thumbs, waiting for luck.  I’ll try all I know to win her, and if I lose her I won’t blame her, but myself for not finding out how to please her; and with that I’ll live a bachelor all my days for her, or else die, just as God wills—­I shan’t much care which.”

“Oh, I know you, you obstinate toad,” said Eve, clinching her teeth and her little hand.  Then she burst out furiously:  “Are you quite resolved?”