"Coward, is it?" cried he, and, with the word, had seized me in a

grip that crushed my flesh, and nigh swung me off my feet;

"coward is it?" he repeated.

"Yes," said I, "none but a coward would attack an unresisting

man." So, for a full minute we stood thus, staring into each

other's eyes, and once again I saw the hairs of his golden beard

curl up, and outwards.

What would have been the end I cannot say, but there came upon

the stillness the sound of flying footsteps, the crowd was burst

asunder, and a girl stood before us, a tall, handsome girl with

raven hair, and great, flashing black eyes.

"Oh!--you, Jarge, think shame on yourself--think shame on

yourself, Black Jarge. Look!" she cried, pointing a finger at

him, "look at the great, strong man--as is a coward!"

I felt the smith's grip relax, his arms dropped to his sides,

while a deep, red glow crept up his cheeks till it was lost in

the clustering curls of gleaming, yellow hair.

"Why, Prue--" he began, in a strangely altered voice, and

stopped. The fire was gone from his eyes as they rested upon

her, and he made a movement as though he would have reached out

his hand to her, but checked himself.

"Why, Prue--" he said again, but choked suddenly, and, turning

away, strode back towards his forge without another word. On he

went, looking neither to right nor left, and I thought there was

something infinitely woebegone and pitiful in the droop of his

head.

Now as I looked from his forlorn figure to the beautiful, flushed

face of the girl, I saw her eyes grow wonderfully soft and sweet,

and brim over with tears. And, when Black George had betaken

himself back to his smithy, she also turned, and, crossing

swiftly to the inn, vanished through its open doorway.

"She 've a fine sperrit, 'ave that darter o' yourn, Simon, a fine

sperrit. Oh! a fine sperrit as ever was!" chuckled the Ancient.

"Prue aren't afeard o' Black Jarge--never was," returned Simon;

"she can manage un--allus could; you'll mind she could allus tame

Black Jarge wi' a look, Gaffer."

"Ah! she 'm a gran'darter to be proud on, be Prue," nodded the

Ancient, "an' proud I be to!"

"What," said I, "is she your daughter, Simon?"

"Ay, for sure."

"And your granddaughter, Ancient?"

"Ay, that she be, that she be."




readonlinefreebook.com Copyright 2016 - 2024