"Oh, Michael, my love—my dear, kind Michael!" she cried, in a pitiful voice of entreaty, "don't do it, don't I pray of you—don't bring that man back."
"Why, Greeba, what is this?" said Michael Sunlocks. "What is it troubles my little woman?"
"Dear Michael," she cried once more, "for your own sake think again before you sign that pardon."
"Ah, I see," said he, "my darling has been all unstrung by this ugly business. Yes, and now I remember what they told me down at Smoky Point. It was my love herself that gave the poor lad up to justice. That was very brave of my darling; for her husband, bless her dear heart, was before all the world to her. Ah, yes, I know that all her love is mine, her love is first and last with her as with all warm natures. But she must not fear for me. No, she must not worry, but go back, like a dear soul, and leave this matter to me."
"Michael, my dear, noble Michael, I have something to say; will you not hear me?"
"Not for a moment? I have set my heart on telling you."
"Not for one little moment. But if you have set your heart on anything else, then, my darling, just think of it double, whatever it is, and it is yours already."
"But why may I not speak of this pardon?"
"Because, though I have never yet set eyes upon this poor man I know more about him than my darling can ever know, and because it is natural that her sweet little heart, that is as brave as a lion for herself but as timid as a fawn for me, should exaggerate my peril. So now, no more words about it, but go, go."