"But for the Lord's sake keep 'em dark. I can trust you--and only you. You've been a rare brick where I was concerned all your life, and 'tis very hard we couldn't have been married, as I shall always think whoever takes me. Still, you'll have to go on wishing me well."
"Yes, indeed."
"Say no more about it then. 'Tis only a moonshiney fancy at best, and very like I'd hate the woman if I knew her better--hate her as much as she does me. You know what a fool I am about 'em. I always see her sponging the blood off David's face and always catch myself wishing she'd been doing the same for mine. But I should have felt the same silly wish about any girl, no doubt."
"There's not another girl that ever I heard about would have done it."
"I know--and I ask myself if that's to praise her or to blame her. To hear my mother--"
"Better hear David. She didn't do it for fun, I can tell you. Not to me--not to no woman--did she ever tell what she felt afterwards; but she did tell David; and he says that she didn't know where she was for the first four rounds, and that once or twice after, when it looked like David being beat, that 'twas all she could do by sticking her nails into herself to keep herself from dashing out to help David against you."
Bartley nodded admiringly.
"I believe it," he said. "I saw it in her face."
"And now I must get on," declared Madge. "Can't waste no more time along with you to-day."
"I'll walk up over then and carry your basket," he answered. "When are you going to be married?"