"Not even that," says I. "Do you suppose I will take a coward for my servant?"
"Madam," says he, "say no more of this, for perhaps you would regret it at another time; and, madam, do you know that you are the last person in the world that I would have regret anything whatever? You have been so much my friend."
"Thank you," says I, bitingly; "but, Mr. Coward, you infer that when I act in the capacity of your friend I enjoy a privilege. Let me assure you I am deeply honoured by it."
"Oh," says he, "how good of you to think so!"
This was staggering simplicity, for I judged him to be too young to be ironical.
"But hark!" says he, "I hear the soldiers shouting and approaching. I must beg you, madam, to leave me to my fate; but do not think too hardly of my cowardice."
"Then I will not leave you to your fate," says I. "'Tis not in my nature, however I may despise your character, having once befriended you to desert you at the last. I came forth in this wintry night especially to save you, and that is what I'll do."
"No, no, madam," he replied, "I will not have you further prejudice yourself with his Majesty for the sake of me."
Now I could only accept this answer as something of an outlet for his wounded feelings, seeing that he must be back in his present spot expressly to implore my further aid.
