“His hat!” she cried, and made to throw it into the fire, but, with a woman’s aim, sent it flying towards the door, which was at that instant opened by her aunt, who saved herself by dodging most undignifiedly.
“What is it, my dear?” asked Miss Sally, in a voice of mingled wonderment and fear.
“I’ll pay him back, be sure of that!” replied Elizabeth, who was by this time a blazing-eyed, scarlet-faced embodiment of fury, and had thrown off all reserve.
“Pay whom back?” tremblingly inquired Miss Sally, with vague apprehensions for the safety of old Mr. Valentine, who had so recently left her niece.
“Your charming captain, your gentleman rebel, your gallant soldier, your admirable Peyton, hang him!” cried Elizabeth.
“My Peyton? I only wish he was!” sighed the aunt, surprised into the confession by Elizabeth’s own outspokenness.
“You’re welcome to him, when I’ve had my revenge on him! Oh, aunt Sally, to think of it! He doesn’t love me! He only pretended, so that I would save his life! But he shall see! I’ll deliver him up to the troops, after all!”
“Oh, no!” said Miss Sally, deprecatingly. Great as was the news conveyed to her by Elizabeth’s 204 speech, she comprehended it, and adjusted her mind to it, in an instant, her absence of outward demonstration being due to the very bigness of the revelation, to which any possible outside show of surprise would be inadequate and hence useless. Moreover, Elizabeth gave no time for manifestations.
“No,” the girl went on. “You are right. He’s able-bodied now, and might be a match for all the servants. Besides, ’twould come out why I shielded him, and I should be the laugh o’ the town. Oh, how shall I pay him? How shall I make him feel—ah! I know! I’ll give him six for half a dozen! I’ll make him love me, and then I’ll cast him off and laugh at him!”
She was suddenly as jubilant at having hit on the project as if she had already accomplished it.