The Battle and the Breeze | Page 5

is, Nelly Blyth," said the man, in a somewhat stern tone of voice; "it won't suit me to dilly-dally in this here fashion any longer. You've kept me hanging off and on until I have lost my chance of gettin' to be mate of a Noocastle collier; an' here I am now, with nothin' to do, yawin' about like a Dutchman in a heavy swell, an' feelin' ashamed of myself."
"Don't be so hasty, Bill," replied the girl, glancing up at her lover's face with an arch smile; "what would you have?"
"What would I have?" repeated the sailor, in a tone of mingled surprise and exasperation. "Well, I never--no, I never did see nothin' like you women for bamboozlin' men. It seems to me you're like ships without helms. One moment you're beatin' as hard as you can to wind'ard; the next you fall off all of a sudden and scud away right before the breeze; or, whew! round you come into the wind's eye, an' lay to as if you'd bin caught in the heaviest gale that ever blow'd since Admiral Noah cast anchor on Mount Ararat. Didn't you say, not three weeks gone by, that you'd be my wife? and now you ask me, as cool as an iceberg, what I would have! Why, Nelly, I would have our wedding-day fixed, our cottage looked after, our boat and nets bought; in fact, our home and business set a-goin'. And why not at once, Nelly? Surely you have not repented--"
"No, Bill Bowls," said Nelly, blushing, and laying her hand on the arm of her companion, "I have not repented, and never will repent, of having accepted the best man that ever came to Fairway; but--"
The girl paused and looked down.
"There you go," cried the sailor: "the old story. I knew you would come to that `but,' and that you'd stick there. Why don't you go on? If I thought that you wanted to wait a year or two, I could easily find work in these times; for Admiral Nelson is glad to get men to follow him to the wars, an' Tom Riggles and I have been talkin' about goin' off together."
"Don't speak of that, Bill," said the girl earnestly. "I dread the thought of you going to the wars; but--but--the truth is, I cannot make up my mind to quit my mother."
"You don't need to quit her," said Bill; "bring her with you. I'll be glad to have her at my fireside, for your sake, Nell."
"But she won't leave the old house."
"H'm! well, that difficulty may be got over by my comin' to the old house, since the old 'ooman won't come to the noo one. I can rent it from her, and buy up the furniture as it stands; so that there will be no occasion for her to move out of her chair.--Why, what's the objection to that plan?" he added, on observing that Nelly shook her head.
"She would never consent to sell the things,--not even to you, Bill; and she has been so long the head of the house that I don't think she would like to--to--"
"To play second fiddle," put in the sailor. "Very good, but I won't ask to play first fiddle. In fact, she may have first, second, and third, and double bass and trombone, all to herself as far as I am concerned. Come, Nelly, don't let us have any more `buts'; just name the day, and I'll bear down on the parson this very afternoon."
Leaving them to continue the discussion of this interesting point, we will turn into the cottage and visit the old woman who stood so much in the way of our hero's wishes.
Mrs Blyth was one of those unfortunates who, although not very old, have been, by ill-health, reduced to the appearance of extreme old age. Nevertheless, she had been blessed with that Christian spirit of calm, gentle resignation, which is frequently seen in aged invalids, enabling them to bear up cheerfully under heavy griefs and sufferings. She was very little, very thin, very lame, very old-looking (ninety at least, in appearance), very tremulous, very subdued, and very sweet. Even that termagant gossip, Mrs Hard-soul, who dwelt alone in a tumble-down hut near the quay, was heard upon one occasion to speak of her as "dear old Mrs Blyth."
Beside Mrs Blyth, on a stool, engaged in peeling potatoes, sat a young woman who was in all respects her opposite. Bessy Blunt was tall, broad, muscular, plain-looking, masculine, and remarkably unsubdued. She was a sort of maid-of-all-work and companion to the old woman. Mrs Blyth lived in the hope of subduing her attendant--who was also her niece--by means of kindness.
"Who came into the garden just now?" asked Mrs Blyth in a meek voice.
"Who would it be but William Bowls?