“Harry Hartley,” he replied.
“Mine,” she went on, “is Prudence. Do you like it?”
“Very much,” said Harry. “But hear for a moment how the General beats upon the door. He will certainly break it in, and then, in Heaven’s name, what have I to look for but death?”
“You put yourself very much about with no occasion,” answered Prudence. “Let your General knock, he will do no more than blister his hands. Do you think I would keep you here if I were not sure to save you? Oh, no, I am a good friend to those that please me! and we have a back door upon another lane. But,” she added, checking him, for he had got upon his feet immediately on this welcome news, “But I will not show where it is unless you kiss me. Will you, Harry?”
“That I will,” he cried, remembering his gallantry, “not for your back door, but because you are good and pretty.”
And he administered two or three cordial salutes, which were returned to him in kind.
Then Prudence led him to the back gate, and put her hand upon the key.
“Will you come and see me?” she asked.
“I will indeed,” said Harry. “Do not I owe you my life?”
“And now,” she added, opening the door, “run as hard as you can, for I shall let in the General.”