For my mother made as if she would throw herself at the soldier’s feet.
“Mother, calm yourself,” I said. “Pray, sir, you see I am in no case to bear much talking. What is your will with me.”
“I’m sorry, I’m very sorry. A man like you that ought to be fighting Mounseer, and a proper Life Guardsman yo’d make, for sure. Well, well, of all the tomfoolery! However, I see no help for it.”
And Long Tom strode about the room in evident perplexity, muttering to himself: “A brave lad,” “a sad case,” “too good for the gallows,” and “I owe the wench one, too.”
I seemed to watch the working of his mind, and hope stole trembling back into my heart.
Another too was scanning his face as anxiously as manner marks the witness of the skies.
“And so, madam,” he said, “you are his mother, and I suppose this tale of small pox is all flam. And you, Miss, what is this long–limbed game cock to you?”
“Oh! Sergeant,” cried Mary, “I am sure you have a good heart, and are a brave and generous man. You must not think ill of Ben for besting you when yo’ fought. It was all for me.”
“I don’t’ think any the worse of him, pretty. I think all the better of him. It served me right, and if I hadn’t taken a drop too much, I shouldn’t have tried to steal a kiss. Tho’ you will admit the provocation.” And here the gallant sergeant doffed his shako and made a low bow to Mary, who blushed and curtsied and cast down her eyes.
“But I owe you some return, miss, for my ill manners, and as for the trouncing, a soldier bears no malice. But you haven’t told me, yet, what is this Ben here to you? Your brother?”