"Priscilla, wilt thou be serious?"
"As death, John. What is it?"
"I writ a letter for thee to thy friend Jeanne De la Noye"—
"'T is a sad truth, John."
"And methought there was in it some word that pointed to—to"—
"Yes; good youth, that pointed to—to—and what then?"
"That pointed to some contract, or mayhap naught more than some understanding"—
"If 't was a word that pointed to any understanding of thee and thy stammerings, John Alden, I pray thee speak it without more ado. Say out what is in thy mind if indeed there is aught there."
"Well then, art thou promised to Jacques De la Noye, and is he coming here to wed thee?"
The rich color of Priscilla's cheek deepened to crimson and the slender thread in her hand snapped sharply, but in an instant she recovered herself, and deftly joining the thread exclaimed.—