I picked up the slim little lady in my arms, and kissed her over and over, whilst, as she struggled away, I whispered:
“Thank God! Dear, brave heart! It was well done, and I thank you.”
My aunt’s rage knew no bounds, and I may not repeat what she said to my Darthea, who stood open-eyed, defiant, and flushed.
I begged the furious old lady to stop. A whirlwind were as easily checked. At last, when she could say no more, my dear maid said quietly:
“What I have done, Hugh should have done long since. We are to live together, I trust, madam, for many years, and I love you well; but you have said things to me not easy to forget. I beg to insist that you apologise. For lighter things men kill one another. I await, madam, your excuses.”
It was a fine sight to see how this fiery little bit of a woman faced my tall, strong aunt, who towered above her, her large face red with wrath.
“Never!” she cried. “I have been—it is I who am insulted and put to shame, in my own house, by a chit of a miss.”
“Then good-by,” said Darthea, and was by me and out of the house before I could see what to do or know what to say.
“She is gone!” I cried. “Oh, Aunt Gainor, you have broken my heart!”
“What did I say, Hugh?” said my aunt. I do truly think she did not know what she had said; and now she was off and I after her, knocking over Caesar and our belated candles, and out of doors after Darthea. I saw her join her a few yards away, and did wisely to hold back. I knew well the child-heart my aunt carried within that spacious bosom.