“Ask her yourself: the foul fiend always finds an easier prey in a woman.”
At this time Margaret came into the room; and ignorant as she herself was of Robin’s efficient aid, she could not help asking him if he had seen the fight.
“Did you see it, young woman? I saw you long before I saw the fight.”
Margaret did not ask any more questions; for in another minute several asked her who had been fighting, what it was for, and what she had to do with it. She knew too well to speak would be to betray herself; and she was glad to find they were in ignorance of the real perpetrator of the deed. She was called into the parlour just then, and rejoiced to escape the inquisitive demands of her fellow-servants.
“That’s a clever girl,” said old Robin, as she left the kitchen,—"that’s a clever girl. Which of you boys would like her for a wife?”
“Ask Will Simpson,” said a sly fellow.
“Ask poor Jack Barry,” said another; “’tis my belief Jack got his blow from a rival in Margaret’s love.”
“What fiend told you that, young man? ’Tis seldom any of ‘em speak the truth? But, perhaps, you know who he is that rivals Jack?”
“No, not I—not I. I know who he would be, if he was alive; and just the sort of fellow, too, to give Jack a nab. But he’s dead and gone long ago, and maybe his bones are at the bottom of the sea, for he was killed on Felixstowe beach.”
“Who’s he? who’s he?”