“Miss Prime, I am surprised to find you here,” began he, sternly.
“Well, you needn’t be. Mark Small and I are old friends, and so I ran over to console him and bid him trust in the Lord. And I guess he did, after all, for nobody else could have sent you here just in the nick of time. You’re just splendid. Folks round here pity Miss Thompson because she’s got such a brute of a husband. But they needn’t. You’re just as good as you can be, and I’ve a great mind to hug you.”
The Captain grew red, and the Captain grew pale. He never felt in such deadly peril before.
“Come, Captain, shake hands and forgive me.”
She stretched out her hand. The Captain hesitated—then took it.
“You’ll never regret this night’s work as long as you live,—never! And I’ll never go to sleep at night without a prayer for Captain Thompson.”
“Pray as much as you please, Hulda; I shall need it all. But if we are to be friends, not a word of what has been said to-night, in Cleverly. You understand?”
“If you insist on hiding your light under a bushel, I’m not mean enough to kick it over without your consent. But it’s a shame. Everybody ought to know what a good man you are.”
The Captain turned on his heel. “Good night, Hulda! Good night, Mark! I’ll see you in the morning.”