Paul turned round, and when he saw that the man held that weapon in his hand he straightened himself; he looked at him steadily.
“Well, what do you want?”
Bridger stepped forward, and roughly gave the gun into his master’s hand.
“Take it and keep it, Squire. I swore last night I’d blow your bloody brains out, and swing for it. I’m not fit to have this gun yet. Keep it, or if I get in drink I’ll kill you.”
An indescribable look of pride came into Paul’s face, and the humiliation and shame were banished. Grace’s heart beat fast when she saw what he was about to do, and a sob broke from her. He gave back the gun.
“You’ll need it for your work,” he said coldly. “I don’t think I’m afraid. I will take my chance of your wanting to shoot me.”
The man looked with wonder at his master, and then violently flung the gun into the corner of the room.
“By God!” he said.
Paul waited for one moment to see if Bridger had anything more to say, then gravely opened the door for his wife.
“Come, Grace.”