"Farmer, if you interrupt again I must ask you to get out. Young woman,
kindly listen while I make you a formal proposition of marriage.
My name, I have told you, is Zebedee Minards. I was born by London
Docks, but have neither home nor people. I have travelled by land and
sea; slept on silk and straw; drunk wine and the salt water; fought,
gambled, made love, begged my bread; in all, lost much and found much,
in many countries. I am tossed on this coast, where I find you, and
find also a man in my name having hold over you. I think I want to
marry you. Will you give up this other man?"

He pursed up his lips again. With that sense of trifles which is
sharpest when the world suddenly becomes too big for a human being, Ruby
had a curiosity to know what he was whistling. And this worried her
even while, after a minute's silence, she stammered out--

"I--I gave him up--last night."

"Very good. Now listen again. In an hour's time I walk to Porthlooe.
There I shall take the van to catch the Plymouth coach. In any case, I
must spend till Saturday in Plymouth. It depends on you whether I come
back at the end of that time. You are going to cry: keep the tears back
till you have answered me. Will you marry me?"

She put out a hand to steady herself, and opened her lips. She felt the
room spinning, and wanted to cry out for mercy. But her mouth made no
sound.

"Will you marry me?"

"Ye--e--yes!"