"Prudence," said I, "Prudence, what do you mean?"
For answer, she held out the crumpled paper, and, scrawled in great, straggling characters, I read these words:
"PRUDENCE,—I'm going away, I shall kill him else, but I shall come back. Tell him not to cross my path, or God help him, and you, and me. GEORGE."
"What does it all mean, Prudence?" said I, like a fool.
Now, as I spoke; glancing at her I saw her cheeks, that had seemed hitherto more pale than usual, grow suddenly scarlet, and, meeting my eyes, she hid her face in her two hands. Then, seeing her distress, in that same instant I found the answer to my question, and so stood, turning poor George's letter over and over, more like a fool than ever.
"You must go away—you must go away!" she repeated.
"Hum!" said I.
"You must go soon; he means it, I—I've seen death in his face," she said, shuddering; "go to-day—the longer you stay here the worse for all of us—go now."
"Prudence!" said I.
"Yes, Mr. Peter!" from behind her hands.