“Would that same conscience be kind enough to suggest that your present conduct is an impertinence, sir?”
“So it might, madam; just as the pilot is impertinent when he cries out, 'Hard, port! breakers ahead!'”
“I am therefore to infer, sir,” said she, with a calm dignity, “that my approach to a secret danger—of which I can have no knowledge—is a sufficient excuse for the employment of language on your part, that, under a less urgent plea, had been offensive?”
“You are,” said I, boldly.
“Speak out, then, sir, and declare what it is.”
“Nay, madam, if the warning find no echo within, my words are useless. I have said I would ask you a question.”
“Well, sir, do so.”
“Will you answer it frankly? Will you give it all the weight and influence it should bear, and reply to it with that truthful spirit that conceals nothing?”
“What is your question, sir? You had better be speedy with it, for I don't much trust to my continued patience.”
I arose at this, and, passing behind the back of my chair, leaned my arms on the upper rail, so as to confront her directly; and then, in the voice of an accusing angel, I said, “Old woman, do you know where you are going?”