The voices were the voices of two girls. The stronger and the bolder was speaking.
“So I come to tell you. Do as you please. If you don’t let on, I shall.”
“Lena!” groaned the other, “are you sure? Isn’t there some mistake?”
“Not a —— chance of any,” replied Lena promptly. “Do you s’pose I’d thrust myself upon you this way, and tell for nothin’? Lord, I know how decent girls feel, bein’ seen with the likes of me. That’s why I set it after dark, and never come nigh your house. Besides, he’s there. I warn’t a-goin’ to make no talk, you better believe, Jane Granite. I’ve seen enough o’ that.”
“Mr. Bayard says you are a—good girl, now,” faltered Jane, not knowing what to say. “I’m sure he wouldn’t want me to be ashamed to be seen with you—now. And I—I’m much obliged to you, Lena. Oh, Lena! what ever in the world are we going to do?”
“Do?” said Lena sharply; “why, head ’em off; that’s all! It only needs a little horse sense, and—to care enough. I’d be drownded in the mud in the inner harbor in a land wind—I’d light a bonfire in the powder factory, and stand by it, if that would do him any good. I guess you would, too.”
Jane made no answer. She felt that this was a subject which could not be touched upon with Lena. It was too dark to see how Jane looked.
“Why,” said the other, “you’re shaking like a topsail in a breeze o’ wind!”
“How do you mean? What is your plan? What do you mean to have me do?” asked Jane, whose wits seemed to have dissolved in terror.
“Get him out of Windover,” coolly said Lena; “leastways for a spell. Mebbe it’ll blow by. There ain’t but one thing I know that’ll do it. Anyhow, there ain’t but one person.”