“He’s a reptile, that’s what he is!” cried Mrs. Dyson. “But, never mind, dear, we can take measures to bring him to justice.”
Mr. and Mrs. Dyson returned home; the former was greatly disgusted with Peace’s conduct, and upbraided his wife for having consented to be his companion. The latter offered every possible excuse, and said that it was no fault of hers, that she was afraid of him, that he was a dangerous designing man, who persecuted her in a manner which was altogether unaccountable.
In his reply to this Mr. Dyson said she must have given him some encouragement, or he never would be so pertinacious.
After a wrangle Mr. Dyson left the house and proceeded in the direction of the line where his services were required, and his wife strove to calm herself as best she could.
Evening came on, and as she sat at her toilette in one of the upstairs rooms of her domicile, she was suddenly aroused by some sand or gravel being thrown violently against the window panes of her bedroom.
She looked out and beheld Peace at the side of the house.
“What do you want now?” cried she, opening the window.
“You,” he returned, whereupon he threw a pebble stone, round which a piece of paper was wrapped, into the open casement.
“Go about your business; I will have nothing to say to you,” said Mrs. Dyson.
“Won’t you? I know better than that. Read!”