"Well," said she, in a muffled voice, "I cry you mercy. Here's what ye are wanting!" And she flung her bag at me; and with her fingers, that trembled, undid the necklet she wore, and handed it to me.
"Come, that's the mood in which to take reverses," says I cheerfully. "I'll warrant there's more where these came from, and more behind them again; for I should think shame to rob the last jewel from a neck that so becomes 'em." This I said by way of consolation for her vanity, if that were touched at my previous refusal. But she said nothing to that; only put her head nearer, and addressed me with a chastened voice,—
"Look ye, Captain, I think you be a hard man, but not so hard perhaps as you may seem. I ask not for myself, as you've taken all I had, but for my niece here, who has had the privilege of your benevolence to retain what she has. You have said your name is Ryder, and I will believe you. 'Tis nothing to me now if it be Ryder or Creech, as—"
"Creech!" says I, for I knew Dan Creech well, and had, indeed, been in some surprises with him.
"Yes, Creech!" said she, looking me steady in the face. "I was warned of a ruffian named Creech that would haunt this road to Maidstone."
"Well, Creech," said I, "will reap nothing from bare acres."
"No," said she, "save from my niece."
And there she spoke truly enough, as I saw; for if Creech was on that road (and maybe he was), I knew him better than to suppose he would be content with their asseverations. He would rummage and overhaul, would Creech, and there was never gold or farden would escape Danny's notice, not if 'twas as pitch black as midnight.
"As you have been so generous," said my lady, "I thought that maybe you would go further, and save my niece from robbery and me from further needless alarms. It seems to me, though I may be prejudiced, that you owe me that at least."
I thought on that for a moment, and—well, I had not spared miss to let her fall a victim later; so says I,—