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He removed his cockaded hat, putting it down between them as he sat at the other end, placing himself at an angle and, crossing his legs, leaned back at his ease, his eyes fixed on her face. As soon as she reached this spot, Wild sprang ashore, and was joined by several persons, —among whom was Quilt Arnold, leading a horse by the bridle,—he hastened down the stairs to meet him. Here was no crooked soul; a little weak perhaps, impulsive beyond common, but fundamentally honest. ‘You do not want to be a nun,’ he said now, and Melusine noted with a prick at her senses the irritation in his tone.
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