"Yes! I'll wait--wait for ever, if you will! I'll lose another belt, for such another look as that!" She was bewildered for a moment, poor fond wretch, at finding herself where she would gladly have stayed for ever: but quickly she recovered her reason.
"Let me go!" she cried, struggling.

"This is not right! Let me go, sir!" and she tried to cover her burning cheeks with her hands.
"I will not, Grace! I love you! I love you, I tell you!" "You do not, sir!" and she struggled still more fiercely.

"Do not deceive yourself! Me you cannot deceive! Let me go, I say! You could not demean yourself to love a poor girl like me!" Utterly losing his head, Tom ran on with passionate words.
"No, sir! you know that I am not fit to be your wife: and do you fancy that I--" Maddened now, Tom went on, ere he was aware, from a foolish deed to a base speech.
"I know nothing, but that I shall keep you in pawn for my belt.

Till that is at least restored, you are in my power, Grace! Remember that!" She thrust him away with so sudden and desperate a spasm, that he was forced to let her go.

She stood gazing at him, a trembling deer no longer, but rather a lioness at bay, her face flashing beautiful indignation.
"In your power! Yes, sir! My character, my life, for aught I know: but not my soul, Send me to Bodmin Gaol if you will; but offer no more insults to a modest maiden! Oh!"-- and her expression changed to one of lofty sorrow and pity;--"Oh! to find all men alike at heart?
After having fancied you--fancied you" (what she had fancied him her woman's modesty dare not repeat)--"to find you even such another as Mr.
Trebooze!" Tom was checked.