"Yes, if it please you, Mistress Judith."
Judith patted the little maid in requital of her courtesy, and then stole noiselessly up-stairs. The door was open. Prudence was standing before a small table ironing a pair of snow-white cuffs, the while she was repeating to herself verses of a psalm. Her voice, low as it was, could be heard distinctly:
Open thou my lips, O Lord, and my mouth shall shew forth thy praise.
For thou desirest no sacrifice, though I would give it; thou delightest not in burnt-offering.
The sacrifices of God are a contrite spirit; a contrite and a broken heart, O God, thou will not despise.
Be favorable unto Zion for thy good pleasure; build the walls of Jerusalem.
Then shalt thou accept the sacrifices of righteousness, even the burnt offering and oblation; then shall they offer calves upon thine altar.
She happened to turn her head; and then she uttered a slight cry of surprise, and came quickly to Judith, and caught her by the hand.
"What said he?" she exclaimed, almost breathlessly. "You saw him? 'Twas the same, was it not? How came he there? Judith, tell me!"
"You timid mouse that ran away!" the other said, with a complacent smile. "Why, what should he say? But prithee go on with the cuffs, else the iron will be cold. And are you alone in the house, Prudence? There is no one below?"