Molly gave a cry, and flung her apron over her head, and Jean came forward, full of genuine distress and sympathy. But at sight of him the old man’s face became suddenly suffused with a rush of returning colour; he babbled with inarticulate rage, and shook his fist threateningly.
“Soombry ’ll pay for this,” he cried, as soon as he could speak. “I’ll not have no murderers in my house. I’ll have blood for blood. Does not the Book say ‘an eye for an eye’? I’ll have life for life, I tell yo’. I’ll revenge my son!”
“Oh, father, father,” wept Molly, throwing herself at his feet, “dunnot say that! Dunnot look at John so wicked! He’s innocent, poor lad. The Book says more nor they things; it says, ‘Vengeance is mine, saith the Lord,’ and, ‘Do as yo’ would be done by.’ We’n killed hundreds and thousands of Frenchmen, I reckon, but if poor Teddy were alive in the hands of his enemies yo’d think it a cruel thing if he were made to answer for it.”
With a volley of oaths the farmer was stooping forward to thrust her away, when there sounded of a sudden a tramping of feet without, and a heavy knock at the door.
“They’ve come for me!” said Jean, turning very pale. “Molly, my loved one, they will take me away; we shall—never meet again. Let us thank God for these happy days.”
She had risen and flown to him, and his arms were about her, when the knocking came again, loud and continuous.
“Open there, in the King’s name!” cried an imperious voice.
“Curse yo’, Molly, go to the door!” growled her father.
“Go, sweetheart,” said Jean, releasing her.
“Oh, father,” gasped Molly, as she crept with lagging steps across the room, “father, remember—yo’ gave your word!”