She seemed, however, on a sudden to change her purpose, for, turning again into the hall, she approached Mr. Bentinck, and, speaking with a very fine assumption of timidity: "If it please your honor," she said, "was it a very thin paper that you mislaid, and twice folded?"
"Yes," replied Mr. Bentinck very sharply. "Where is it?"
"La, now," cries Prue, "where did I lay it? I did think perhaps it was of import, and know I did put it in safety."
"Then find it," growled he so angrily that poor Prue appeared much frightened.
"Nay, sir," she pleaded very piteously, "do not so frown upon a poor maid."
She looked around a little, as in great puzzlement; then, feeling daintily beneath her stomacher, she produced the paper, crying triumphantly that she had said it was safe, and here it was. Mr. Bentinck was at once upon the paper like a hungry hawk, asking, so soon as it was safe in his hand, whether she had read what was there written. At which Prudence opened wide her blue eyes in an amazement vastly childlike.
"And how does your honor think I should read French?" she asked.
"And how know 't was French," retorted her inquisitor, with bitter keenness, "if you did not read?" But Prue was too strong for the great statesman.
"Mercy on us, sir," she cried, clasping her hands most prayerfully, "do not hang me! I' fecks I did try to read, and making nothing of it, did know it for French."
When Mr. Bentinck, for all reply, had tushed, pshawed, and growled a few words wholly inaudible, he turned sharply upon his heel and left them.