"Lor-a-mercy!" gasped Master Simon.
But the second note was written in a different hand, and ran as follows:
"I could die of shame. It was all that hussy of a girl. She did it for a joke. I'll joke her. But what will you be thinking?—P. W."
"I could die of shame. It was all that hussy of a girl. She did it for a joke. I'll joke her. But what will you be thinking?—P. W."
Master Simon rowed down to Ponteglos that very afternoon, and the two carriers went back with him. Happiness seemed to have shaken its wings and quite departed from "Pandora's Box"; but a twinkle of something not entirely unlike hope lurked in the corners of the waitress's eyes—albeit their lids were red and swollen—as she ushered Master Simon into the best parlour.
"What can you be thinking of me?" began the widow. Her eyes were red and swollen, too.
"I've brought back the pigeons."
"I can never bear the sight of them again!"
"You might begin different, you know," suggested Master Simon, affably. "Some little message about the weather, for instance. Have you given that girl warning to leave?"
"You see, I'm so lonely here…"