in his hand he slowly lifted a knife above my
heart. I was motionless, not with terror--for his hand trembled so it
could scarce have dealt a deadly blow--but with horror to find such a
man at such a deed. So, though my eyes were open, he saw not that I was
awake, and with a gasp brought down his hand. Mine was out in time to
catch him by the wrist. "Peter Stoupe!" I cried; "are you gone mad?"

'Twas pitiful to see him then drop on his knees, his face as white as
the sheets, and with quaking lips beg for mercy.

"Oh, Humphrey!" he gasped; "forgive--I knew not what I was-- Yes, I was
mad--forgive this once--"

"Forgive!" said I, "you ask the wrong person. You are on your knees;
ask Him who is above to forgive you! 'Tis Him you have wronged, more
than me. And when you have done, come back to bed, for I am weary."

I know not if he prayed, or what he did. But presently, when he came
back to bed, he lay very still and cold, and when we rose in the morning
never a word spake either of us of what had passed that night.

But, as I expected, we were none the better friends for all that. For
though he durst never lift his voice in my hearing again, he scowled at
me under his brows, and, as I suppose, wished he had done what he tried
to do that night. I found it best to let him be, even when he made up
to Jeannette, which happened but seldom, and then little to his comfort.
But when, after a month or more, his articles being ended, he took his
hat and left the shop for good, I was not surprised, nor were my master
or mistress over-much cast down.

As for me, I had a shrewd guess Peter Stoupe had not yet done with me.

All went happily, then, in the house without Temple Bar. Only my little
mistress held me off more than she had been wont, and was graver with
me. Yet it was happiness to see she counted somewhat on my company, and
scorned not to ask my arm whenever she needed its help.

Often and often she made me tell her of my journeyings, and of Ludar and
the maiden. And her bright eyes would glisten as she heard how they
were parted and what they had suffered for one another. And she longed
to see both, and was ever wondering where they were and how they fared.
But the spring wore into summer, and the summer grew towards autumn,
before a word of news came.

Then one Sunday, Will Peake, my old adversary, walked into the shop with
a monstrous letter in his hand, tied round with blue silk and sealed
black a