"As a man?" said I to myself again, and so fell a-dreaming of this Charmian. And, in my mind, I saw her, not as she had first appeared, tall and fierce and wild, but as she had been when she stooped to bind up the hurt in my brow—with her deep eyes brimful of tenderness, and her mouth sweet and compassionate. Beautiful eyes she had, though whether they were blue or brown or black, I could not for the life of me remember; only I knew I could never forget the look they had held when she gave that final pat to the bandage. And here I found that I was turning a little locket round and round in my fingers, a little, old-fashioned, heart-shaped locket with its quaint inscription: "Hee who myne heart would keepe for long Shall be a gentil man and strong." I was sitting thus, plunged in a reverie, when a shadow fell across the floor, and looking up I beheld Prudence, and straightway, slipping the locket back into the bosom of my shirt, I rose to my feet, somewhat shamefaced to be caught thus idle. Her face was troubled, and her eyes red, as from recent tears, while in her hand she held a crumpled paper. "Mr. Peter—" she began, and then stopped, staring at me. "Well, Prudence?" "You—you've seen him!" "Him—whom do you mean?" "Black Jarge!" "No; what should make you think so?" "Your face be all cut—you've been fightin'!" "And supposing I have—that is none of George's doing; he and I are very good friends—why should we quarrel?" "Then—then it weren't Jarge?" "No—I have not seen him since Saturday." "Thank God!" she exclaimed, pressing her hand to her bosom as if to stay its heaving. "But you must go," she went on breathlessly. "Oh, Mr. Peter! I've been so fearful for 'ee, and—and—you might meet each other any time, so—so you must go away." "Prudence," said I, "Prudence, what do you mean?" For answer, she held out the crumpled paper, and, scrawled in great, straggling characters, I read these words: "PRUDENCE,—I'm going away, I shall kill him else, but I shall come back. Tell him not to cross my path, or God help him, and you, and me. GEORGE." "What does it all mean, Prudence?" said I, like a fool. Now, as I spoke; glancing at her I saw her cheeks, that had seemed hitherto more pale than usual, grow suddenly scarlet, and, meeting my eyes, she hid her face in her two hands. Then, seeing her distress, in that same instant I found the answer to my question, and so stood, turning poor George's letter over and over, more like a fool than ever. "You must go away—you must go away!" she repeated. "Hum!" said I. "You must go soon; he means it, I—I've seen death in his face," she said, shuddering; "go to-day—the longer you stay here the worse for all of us—go now." "Prudence!" said I. "Yes, Mr. Peter!" from behind her hands. "You always loved Black George, didn't you?" "Yes, Mr. Peter." "And you love him still, don't you?" A moment's silence, then: "Yes, Mr. Peter."