"No, he is not dead," she confessed, relenting a little. "But he has the baronet's bullet through his sword-arm for the sake of your over-seas disagreement with Sir Francis." I could not tell her that though my quarrel with this villain was but the avenging of poor Dick Coverdale's wrongs, Richard Jennifer's was for the baronet's affront to her. So I bore the blame in silence, glad enough to be assured that my dear lad was only wounded. "Why don't you speak, sir?" she snapped, flying out at me in a passion for my lack of words. "What should I say? I have not forgot that once you called me ungenerous." "You should defend yourself, if you can. And you should ask my pardon for calling my father's guest hard names." "The last I will do right heartily. 'Twas but the simple truth, but it was ill-spoken in your presence, Mistress Stair." At this she laughed merrily; and in all my world-wanderings I had never heard a sound so gladsome as this sweet laugh of hers when she would be on the forgiving hand. "Surely any one would know you are a soldier, Captain Ireton. No other could make an apology and renew the offense so innocently in the same breath." Then her mood changed again in the dropping of an eyelid, and she sighed and said: "Poor Dick!" As ever when she was with me, my eyes were devouring her; and at the sigh and the trembling of the sweet lips in sympathy I found that curious love-madness coming upon me again. Then I saw that I must straightway dig some chasm impassable between this woman and me, as I should hope to be loyal to my friend. So I said: "He loves you well, Mistress Margery." She glanced up quickly with a smile which might have been mocking or loving; I could not tell which it was. "Did he make you his deputy to tell me so, Captain Ireton?" Now I might have known that she was only luring me on to some pitfall of mockery, but I did not, and must needs burst out in some clumsy disclaimer meant to shield my dear lad. And in the midst of it she laughed again. "Oh, you do amuse me mightily, _mon Capitaine_," she cried. "I do protest I shall come to see you oftener. Tis as good as any play!" "Saw you ever a play in this backwoods wilderness?" I asked, glad of any excuse to change the talk and keep her by me. "No, indeed. But you are not to think that no one has seen the great world save only yourself, Captain Ireton. What would you say if I should tell you that I, too, have seen your London, and even your Paris?" Here I must blunder again and say that I had been wondering how else she came by the Parisian French; but at this her jesting mood vanished suddenly and she spoke softly. "I had it of my mother, who came of the Huguenots. She spoke it always to me. But my father speaks it not, and now I am losing it for want of practice."