"Well, Prudence?"
"You—you've seen him!"
"Him—whom do you mean?"
"Black Jarge!"
"No; what should make you think so?"
"Your face be all cut—you've been fightin'!"
"And supposing I have—that is none of George's doing; he and I are very good friends—why should we quarrel?"
"Then—then it weren't Jarge?"
"No—I have not seen him since Saturday."
"Thank God!" she exclaimed, pressing her hand to her bosom as if to stay its heaving. "But you must go," she went on breathlessly. "Oh, Mr. Peter! I've been so fearful for 'ee, and—and—you might meet each other any time, so—so you must go away."