Another pause. The wriggling has ceased.
'Only,' pursues Peggy, quite determined not to supply the form of petition for Talbot's welfare, 'only you must say it out of your own head. I am not going to tell you what to say.'
'Oh, then,' with an air of resolution, 'I had better say, "God bless John Talbot; and I am glad he is here."'
She has pronounced this last somewhat eccentrically-worded supplication rather loud, and at the end of it her wandering eye takes in an object which makes her spring from her knees as hastily as she had done before.
'Oh! there is John Talbot!' cries she, tearing out barefoot into the passage, and flinging herself into his arms.
'I have been praying for you!' cries she, hugging him. 'Miss Lambton said that I might.'
At this unexpected colouring given to her reluctant permission Peggy reddens.
'I said that there was no harm in it,' explains Peggy hurriedly; 'there is no harm in praying for any one.'
'And the more they need it the greater charity it is,' replies he, looking at her with so sad and deprecating a humility that her anger against him melts.