They
were away somewhere--with the Hands or with the girl who had made
Petro listen.
"Will you do it, Father? Will you give me a chance?" his son repeated.
Old Peter started. "Old Peter" seemed the only name that fitted him
just then.
"One of my children is going to marry a marquis and the other wants to
marry a clerk behind my counters," he almost whimpered.
Then Petro knew, without telling, which direction his father's
thoughts had taken.
"Don't be afraid that she isn't a lady," the young man humoured the
old man's prejudices. "She's English and beautiful and clever and
brave. She saved a woman from being burned to death to-day at the
Hands. She didn't tell me that story, but I heard it. God made her to
be a princess. Misfortune put her behind a counter in our store. Oh,
no! _not_ misfortune. Though she's had a hard time at the Hands, and
shows it in her face, I believe she'd say herself that she's glad of
the experience. And if through her those that have suffered wrong from
us can be--"
"Don't talk to me any more about all this just now, my son," Peter
senior suddenly implored rather than commanded "You've given me a
shock--several shocks.
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