"On the chance, Judith, on the very doubtful chance of making a man of Jamie, you rush on the certainty of making' a ruin of yourself. That man—that Coppinger to be trusted with you! A fair little vessel, richly laden, with silken sail, and cedar sides, comes skimmering over the sea, and—Heaven forgive me if I judge wrongly—but I think he is a wrecker, enticing, constraining you on to the reefs where you will break up, and all your treasures will—not fall to him—but sink; and all that will remain of you will be a battered and broken hull, and a draggled discolored sail. I cannot—I cannot endure the thought."
"Yet it must be endured, faced and endured by me." said Judith. "You are a cruel comforter, Uncle Zachie. I called you to encourage me, and you cast me down; to lighten my load, and you heap more on."
"I can do no other," gasped Mr. Menaida. Then he sprang back, with open mouth, aghast. He saw Cruel Coppinger on the other side of the hedge, he had put his hands to the tamarisk bushes, and thrust them apart and was looking through.
"Goldfish!" called Captain Coppinger, "Goldfish, come!"
Judith knew the voice and looked in the direction whence it came, and saw the large hands of Coppinger holding back the boughs of tamarisk, his dark face in the gap. She rose at once and stepped toward him.
"You are ill," he said, fixing his sombre eyes on her.
"I am not ill in body, I have had much to harass my mind."
"Yes, that Wadebridge business."
" What has sprung out of it?"
"Shall I come to you, or will you to me?—through the tamarisks?"
"As you will, Captain Coppinger."
"Come, then—up on to the hedge and jump—I will catch you in my arms. I have held you there ere this."
"Yes, you have taken me up, now must I throw——" She did not finish the sentence; she meant, must she voluntarily throw herself into his arms?
She caught hold of the bushes and raised herself to the top of the hedge.
"By Heaven!" said he. "The tamarisk flowers have more color in them than your face."
