I had heard of him also, and of his outrageous treatment of women. The memory caused me to clasp my hand warmly over hers, and set my teeth hard.
“It may not prove to be Lowrie at all,” I said soberly; “but all these gentry are pretty much alike, I fear. However, I promise that you shall never fall alive into the hands of any of their breed.”
Before she could answer me other than by a slight nestling closer in the darkness, Bungay whispered: “This yere hole, Cap, leads down ter the right, an' comes out in a sort o' gully 'bout a hundred feet back. Thar's light 'nough ter see ter walk by a'ter ye turn ther corner 'bout twenty feet er so. You uns kin go on down thar if ye 'd rather, follerin' ther dorgs, but I reckon as how I'll stay right yere an' sorter see how ther ol' woman comes out.
“'Where, where was Roderick then?
One blast upon his bugle horn
Were worth a thousand men.'
“If you uns like ter see a durned good fight maybe ye better stay tew—ther ol' woman is pisen if she once gits her dander up.”
His voice was expressive of great expectations, and I had reason to believe his faith in Maria would be justified. Before any of us, however, had time to change our positions we heard the fellows come stamping roughly into the cabin. The thin slabs which divided us scarcely muffled their loud voices.
“Well, old woman,” exclaimed one in voice so gruff as to seem almost assumed, “pretending to be alone, are you, with all those dishes sitting out on the table; just been eaten off, too. Haven't seen no strange party along the road this morning, have ye?”
“Nary a one,” said Maria, and I knew from her voice she was standing close beside the fireplace.
“Are you Mrs. Bungay?”
“I reckon I am, if it's any o' yer business.”