"Oh, Mr. Peter, forgive me! I--I were only thinkin' of Jarge,
and--"
"And quite right too, Prudence," I nodded; "he is indeed worth
any good woman's thoughts; let it be your duty to think of him,
and for him, henceforth."
"Wait!" said she, "wait!" And turning, she fled through the
doorway and across the road, swift and graceful as any bird, and
presently was back again, with something hidden in her apron.
"He be a strong man, and terrible in his wrath," said she, "and
I--love him, but--take this wi' you, and if it--must be--use it,
because I do love him." Now, as she said this, she drew from
her apron that same brass-bound pistol that had served me so well
against the "ghost" and thrust it into my hand. "Take it, Mr.
Peter--take it, but--oh!"--here a great sob choked her voice--"
don't--don't use it--if--if you can help it, for my sake."
"Why, Prue!" said I, touching her bowed head very tenderly, "how
can you think I would go up against my friend with death in my
hand--Heaven forbid!" So I laid aside the weapon and, clapping
on my hat, strode out into the glory of the summer morning, but
left her weeping in the shadows.