Presently I gave the paper to my lover, and told him to acquaint himself therewith.
"My lad," says I, "I believe that I have slain a very admirable man."
Having read the dead man's words, he tossed the paper from him, and eyed me fiercely with the most indignant face.
"Bab," he said, "I hate you for this! His blood is most surely on your head; and it would be but common justice if his corpse still haunts you o' nights when you are a fear-ridden hag of a hundred winters."
I made no answer to his blame, for remorse was poisoning my heart.
"Yes," says he, "this was a very proper man. But cheer up, Bab, for when all is claimed, I think that you are a very proper woman too, and I am going to forgive you for your wickedness." Thereupon he rose briskly from his chair, came to my side, and kissed me right properly, with never a sign of ceremonial. I was in no condition to reprove his impudent assumption, and perhaps had I been, I might have found it scarcely possible to do so, for his behaviour was the most wonderful proof, I thought, of his magnanimity.
"Now cheer up, Bab," he said; "but I wish that you damned women would keep your claws more regularly trimmed. You are just like soft, tame, pretty pussycats, that go a-hunting the dear harmless birds. You will not keep your paws down; you love to flesh 'em; and, well, if you slay
