The Atlantic Monthly, Volume 17, No. 101, March, 1866, page 219 by Various Authors
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I die for it."
The turret was ornamented from top to bottom with short ledges consisting of half-bricks. This ledge, shallow as it was, gave a slight foothold, insufficient in itself; but he grasped the strong branches of the ivy with a powerful hand, and so between the two contrived to get up and hang himself out close to her.
"Sweet mistress," said he, "put out your hand to me; for I can't take it against your will this time. I have got but one arm."
But this she declined. "No, no," said she; "you do nothing but torment and terrify me,--there." And so gave it him; and he mumbled it.
This last feat won her quite. She thought no other man could have got to her there with two arms; and Griffith had done it with one. She said to herself, "How he loves me!--more than his own neck." And then she thought, "I shall be wife to a strong man; that is one comfort."
In this softened mood she asked him demurely, would he take a friend's advice.
"If that friend is you, ay."
"Then," said she, "I'll do a downright brazen thing, now my hand is in. I declare I'll tell you how to secure me. You make me plight my troth with you this minute, and exchange rings with you, whether I like or not; engage my honor in this foolish business, and if you do that, I really do think you will have me in spite of them all. But there,--la!--am I worth all this trouble?"
Griffith did not share this chilling doubt. He poured forth his gratitude, and then told her he had got his mother's ring in his pocket; "I meant to ask you to wear it," said he.
"And why didn't you?"
"Because you became an heiress all of a sudden."
"Well, what signifies which of us has the dross, so that there is enough for both?"
"That is true," said Griffith, approving his own sentiment, but not recognizing his own words. "Here's my mother's ring, on my little finger, sweet mistress. But I must ask you to draw it off, for I have but one hand."
Kate made a wry face, "W