He waited a moment or two after I had spoken, and then, says he, in a low voice:
"Is that all?"
"Nay," says I, offering the purse, "we do beg you to take this as—"
He stopped me, pushing my hand aside.
"I have taken a purse from Don Sanchez," says he. "There was more in it than I needed—there are still some pieces left. But as I would not affront him by offering to return them, so I beg you will equally respect my feelings. I undertook the task in gratitude, and it hath been a work of love all through, well paid for by the happiness that I have found here."
He stood musing a little while, as if he were debating with himself whether he should seek to overcome Moll's resentment or not. Then, raising his head quickly, he says:
"'Tis best so, maybe. Farewell, sir" (giving me his hand). "Tell her," adds he, as we stand hand in hand at the door, "that I can never forget her kindness, and will ever pray for her happiness."
I found the door ajar and Moll pacing the room very white, when I returned. She checked me the moment I essayed to deliver Dario's message.
"You can save your breath," says she, passionately. "I've heard every word."
"More shame for you," says I, in a passion, casting my purse on the table. "'Tis infamous to treat an honest gentleman thus, and silly besides. Come, dear," altering my tone, "do let me run and fetch him back."
"You forget whom you are speaking to, Mr. Hopkins," cries she.
