“Sakes alive!” she muttered, listening. “Was it all for nowt, then?”
I saw the craft come back to her withered eyes in the dusk.
“Heave me up, Renalt,” she said. “The Lord has seen the wisdom o’ let alone, praise to His mercy.”
“Don’t presume on that, Peggy. He’ll call to you at His own time, though it mayn’t be through a thunderstorm.”
“Look to yourself, Renalt. The young twigs snap easiest. You may be the first to go, wi’ the load o’ guilt you gathered in London yon for company.”
“Very likely. You asked me to pray for you just now, you know. What’s on your mind, Peggy Rottengoose?”
I had the old sinner to her feet by this time. Her face was a yellow, haggard thing to look at—shining like stained brass. Something in it seemed to convey to me that perhaps after all the angel of the storm had struck at her in passing.
She looked at me morosely and fearfully.
“What but ministering to Satan’s children?” she said.
“You graceless old villain, I’ve a mind to pitch you into the race.”