"Stop," said he, with a face as white as milk. "You told them—you told them about—about the girl at Bristol?"
"What girl at Bristol?" said I innocently. "'T is not me to be knowing your wenches in Bristol or otherwheres."
A red flush came into the side of his neck and swelled slowly across his cheeks. "If you 've told them about Nell!"
"Nell?" said I. "Nell? Yes, that's the name, Nell. Yes, Nell. And if I told them about Nell?"
"Then," he rejoined solemnly, "I shall kill you ten times if I lose my soul in everlasting hell for it."
"But after I have killed you eleven times I shall go to Bristol and have some sweet interviews with fair Nell," said I. This sting I expected to call forth a terrific outburst, but he remained scowling in dark thought. Then I saw where I had been wrong. This Nell was now more a shame than a sweetheart, and he was afraid that word had been passed by me to the brother of Here was a chance to disturb him. "When I was making my little joke of you and your flame at Bristol," said I thoughtfully, "I believe there were no ladies present. I don't remember quite. Any how we will let that pass. 'T is of no consequence."
And here I got him in full cry. "God rot you!" he shrieked. His sword sprang and whistled in the air.
"Hold," said I, as a man of peace. "'T would be murder. My weapon is on the bed, and I am too lazy to go and fetch it. And in the mean time let me assure you that no word has crossed my lips in regard to Nell, your Bristol sweetheart, for the very
