"Oh, no! I feel as though I could charge an army," said Pence valiantly.
"Then wait in the study." She indicated the panelled room with a jerk of her head. "Jabez will be down from his quarter-deck soon."
"No." Pence shivered, in spite of the rum, at the thought of again having to face his tempter. "I must go now. My presence is required in the village."
"Then you can take a message for me to Mr. Vand," said Mrs. Coppersley, with a slight accession of colour to her already florid face. "Say that I am coming to Marshely about seven o'clock, and will call at the shop."
This request changed Pence into the preacher and the leader of the godly people who called his chapel their fold. Vand was the son of the woman who kept the village grocery shop, and a cripple who played the violin at various local concerts. He was at least ten years younger than Mrs. Coppersley, who confessed to being thirty-five—though probably she was older—and the way in which the widow ran after him was something of a scandal. As both Mrs. Coppersley and Henry Vand were members of Little Bethel, Silas felt that he was entitled to inquire into the matter. "You ask me to take such a message, sister?" he demanded austerely.
The widow's face flamed, and her eyes sparkled. "There is no shame in it that I am aware of, Mr. Pence," she declared violently; "if I choose to marry again, that's no one's business but mine, I take it."
"Oh, so you desire to marry Henry Vand?" said Pence, amazed.
"It's not a question of desiring," said the buxom woman impatiently. "Henry and I have arranged to be married this summer."
"He is a cripple."
"I know that," she snapped, "and therefore needs the care of a wife."