"Thou 'rt going to a terrible danger—my friend—and it may be to thy death."
"Well girl, 't is not worth crying for if I am. Life is not so sweet to me that I should over much dread to lay it down with honor."
"Oh, oh, and it is my fault!"—sobbed Priscilla.
The captain strode up and down the narrow space pulling at his red beard and frowning thoughtfully; then stopping before the girl who stood as he had left her, he quietly said,—
"Priscilla, I was indeed thy father's friend, and I am thine, and I fain would have wed thee, and thou didst refuse, preferring John Alden, who also is my friend, even as my younger brother, whose honor and well being are dear to me as mine own. What then is the meaning of thy grief, and what is thy request?"
"My grief is that since the day I gave John Alden my promise, you, sir, have been no more my friend, but ever looked upon me with coldness and disdain; and now that you go, it may be to your death, it breaketh my heart to have it so, and I fain would beg your forgiveness for aught I have done to offend you, though I know not what it may be."
"Know not—well, well, let it pass—'t is but one more traverse. Yes child, I forgive thee for what to me seemed like something of scorn and slight, something of double dealing and treachery—nay, we'll say no more on 't. Here is my hand, Priscilla—and surely thy father's friend may for once taste thy cheek. Now child, we're friends and dear friends, and if yon savage sheathes his knife in my heart perhaps thou 'lt shed a tear or two, and say a prayer for the soul of—thy father's friend. And now thy petition, for time presses."
"That thou wilt take John Alden with thee."
"What then! Who shall read a woman's will aright! I left him at home for thy sake, Priscilla."
"So I guessed and I thank you—nay, I thank you not for so misjudging me." And the fire in the hazel eyes upraised to his, dried the tears sharply.