“I drink your health, Mildred; as you won’t pledge me, I do it alone.”
“I thank ye, ma’am.”
“Ha, yes, that does me good; I’m tired to death, Mildred.”
“There’s two on us so, ma’am; shall I get you to bed, please?”
“In a minute; give me your hand again, girl; come, come, come,—yes, I have it. I think you are more friendly, eh? I think so; but the little goodwill I ever show you now is nothing to what I mean for you when I come to Wyvern—nothing.”
And she strengthened the present assurance with an oath, and grasped Mildred’s hard brown hand very tight.
“And you’ll be kind to me, Mildred, when I want it; and I shall want it, mind, and I’ll never forget it to you; ’twill be the making of you. I’ll show you how much I trust you, for I’ll put myself in your power.”
And, hereupon, she shook her hand harder. Her face and manner were changed, and she looked horribly frightened for some minutes.
“I don’t blame you, Mildred, but this thing must not go on—it must not be.”
Mildred in her own way looked disconcerted and even agitated at this odd speech. She screwed her mouth sharply to one side, and with her brow knit had turned a frightened gaze on her visitor.