"O, my luve's like a red, red rose,
That's newly sprung in June;
O, my luve's like the melodie
That's sweetly played in tune."
And so, at last, unable to bear it any longer, I rose and, taking my candle, went into my room and closed the door. But I had been there scarcely five minutes when Charmian knocked.
"Oh, Peter! I wish to speak to you—please." Obediently I opened the door.
"What is it, Charmian?"
"You dropped this from your pocket when you took out your tinder-box so clumsily!" said she, holding towards me a crumpled paper. And looking down at it, I saw that it was Black George's letter to Prudence.
Now, as I took it from her, I noticed that her hand trembled, while in her eyes I read fear and trouble; and seeing this, I was, for a moment, unwontedly glad, and then wondered at myself.
"You—did not read it—of course?" said I, well knowing that she had.
"Yes, Peter—it lay open, and—"
"Then," said I, speaking my thought aloud, "you know that she loves
George."
"He means you harm," said she, speaking with her head averted, "and, if he killed you—"