e I
love him like my own.

ARETHUSA. Why, who could help it, Mrs. Drake?

KIT. Arethusa, you're an angel. Do I want to please Captain Gaunt? Why,
that's as much as ask whether I love you. (I don't deny that his words
cut me; for they did. But as for wanting to please him, if he was deep
as the blue Atlantic, I would beat it out. And elderly, too? Aha, you
witch, you're wise! Elderly? You've set the course; you leave me alone
to steer it. Matrimony's my port, and love is my cargo.) That's a
likely question, ain't it, Mrs. Drake? Do I want to please him! Elderly,
says you? Why, see here: Fill up my glass, and I'll drink to Arethusa on
my knees.

ARETHUSA. Why, you stupid boy, do you think that would please him?

KIT. On my knees I'll drink it! (_As he kneels and drains the glass,
GAUNT enters, and he scrambles to his feet._)

SCENE IV

_To these, GAUNT_

GAUNT. Arethusa, this is no place for you.

ARETHUSA. No, father.

GAUNT. I wish you had been spared this sight; but look at him, child,
since you are here; look at God's image, so debased. And you, young man
(_to KIT_), you have proved that I was right. Are you the husband for
this innocent maid?

KIT. Captain Gaunt, I have a word to say to you. Terror is your last
word; you're bitter hard upon poor sinners, bitter hard and black--you
that were a sinner yourself. These are not the true colours; don't
deceive yourself; you're out of your course.

GAUNT. Heaven forbid that I should be hard, Christopher. It is not I;
it's God's law that is of iron. Think! if the blow were to fall now,
some cord to snap within you, some enemy to plunge a knife into your
heart; this room, with its poor taper light, to vanish; this world to
disappear like a drowning man into the great ocean; and you, your brain
still whirling, to be snatched into the presence of the Eternal Judge:
Christopher French, what answer would you make? For these gifts wasted,
for this rich mercy scorned, for these high-handed bravings of your
better angel--what have you to say?

KIT. Well, sir, I want my word with you, and by your leave I'll have it
out.

ARETHUSA. Kit, for pity's sake!

KIT. Arethusa, I don't speak to you, my dear: you've got my ring, and I
know what that means. The man I speak to is Captain Gaunt. I came to-day
as happy a man as ever stepped, and with as fair a lookout. What did you
care? what was your reply? None of your flesh and blood, you said,
should lie at the mercy o