"Aye but," says she, "whiles you fought for our lives what must I be doing?"
"Lying secure within your secret treasure-house."
"Never!" says she, setting her chin at me, "O never, Martin; since I am your comrade my place must be beside you."
"'Twould but distress me and spoil my shooting."
"Why then, my aim should be truer, Martin. Come now, teach me how to use gun and pistol."
So then and there I fetched a pistol and one of the arquebuses and showed her their manage, namely—how to hold them, to level, sight, etc. Next I taught her how to charge them, how to wad powder and then shot lest the ball roll out of the barrel; how having primed she must be careful ever to close the pan against the priming being blown away. All of the which she was mighty quick to apprehend. Moreover, I took care to keep all my firearms cleaned and loaded, that I might be ready for any disturbers of our peace.
So the days sped, each with its meed of work, but each full-charged of joy. And dear to me beyond expressing is the memory of those days whenas I, labouring with my new tools, had but to lift my head to behold my dear comrade (herself busy as I). Truly how dear, how thrice-blessed the memory of it all! A memory this, indeed, that was to become for me sacred beyond all others; for now came Happiness with arms outstretched to me and I (poor, blind wretch) suffered it to plead in vain and pass me by, as you shall hear.
It was a night of splendour with a full moon uprising in majesty to fill the world with her soft radiance; a night very warm and still and we silent, I think because of the tender beauty of the night.
"Martin," says my companion softly at last, "here is another day sped—"
"Alas, and more's the pity!" quoth I.