"And what did you kill him with?" I was sitting up now, quite myself, and intensely curious. Elsie always says that merely wanting to know will restore me quicker than a whole apothecaries' hall.
She affected not to hear.
"You can't do without me after all!" she taunted. "I know."
"Don't you mind having killed him?" I asked. As for me I should have been fairly cut out of my mind if I had done as much.
"Of course I care," she answered; "didn't I tell you he killed my grandfather?"
Then it was that I began to believe that after all there was something in blood. And I resolved, there and then, that when Elsie and I were married I should behave, and give her no cause to take an odd shot at me.
"But what did you do it with?" It was the second time of asking.
"Dum-dum!" said she.
"What!" I cried; "then my father gave you that beautiful long-barrelled Webley he took from me?"
"Well, don't sulk about it—there's no time!" she cried. "Of course he gave it to me—as soon as you had gone out—said I might need it, with all the excitement among the Bewick pit folk. So I had a special pocket made for it, and I have carried it about ever since. This is the first chance I've had, though!"