“I have said the truth,” replied Poll, “and did my duty—­you’re now warned, so be on your guard and take care of yourself.”

“But how, Poll?  You mention danger, yet have not told me what it is, where it’s to come from, nor how I am to guard myself against it.”

“I’m not at liberty,” said Poll, “but this I can tell you, it’s threatening you, and it comes from a quarther where you’d never look for it.”

Mary, who was neither timid nor surprised, smiled with the confidence of innocence, and replied, after a short pause of thought—­

“Well, Poll, I have been thinking over my friends, and cannot find one that is likely to be my enemy; at all events I am deeply obliged to you, still if you could mention what the danger is, I would certainly feel the obligation to be greater.  As it is, I thank you again.  Good evening!”

“Stay, Miss Mary,” replied Poll, walking eagerly a step or two after her, “stay a minute; I have run a risk in doin’ this—­only promise me, to keep what I said to you a saicret for a while—­as well as that you ever had any private talk wid me.  Promise this.”

“I shall certainly not promise any such thing, Poll; so far from that, I will mention every word of your conversation to my father and family, the moment I reach home.  If, as you say, there is danger before or around me, there are none whose protection I should so naturally seek.”

“But this,” said Poll, with an appearance of deep anxiety, “this is a matther of mere indifference to you:  it’s to me the danger is, if you spake of it—­to me, I say—­not to you.”

“But I can have no secrets from my family.”

“Well, but is it ginerous in you to put me—­ay’, my very life in danger—­when all you have to do is merely to say nothing?  However, since I must speak out—­you’ll put more than me in danger—­them that you love betther, an’ that you’d never carry a light heart if anything happened them.”

Mary started—­and a light seemed suddenly to break upon her.

“How,” said she, “my engagement to Francis Harman is no secret; our marriage at no distant day being sanctioned by both our families.  Is he involved in danger connected with your hints?”

“Deep and deadly, both to him and me.  You don’t know it, Miss Mary.  If you love him, as you do—­as is well known you do—­if you would keep him and my poor worthless self out of danger, may be out of bloodshed—­don’t mention a syllable of this meetin’ to any one; but of all persons livin’ to himself, until I give you lave, until I can tell you it will be safe to do so.  See, I kneel down with hands clasped, I beg it of you for his sake and safety!”