Here Simon stopped suddenly; for without a word Hildegarde had raised the pistol (which he had not seen before, as her hand was behind her), and levelled it full at his head, keeping her eyes steadily fixed on him.  With a howl of terror the wretch staggered back, putting up his hands to ward off the expected shot.

“Don’t shoot!” he gasped, while his color changed to a livid green.  “I—­I didn’t mean nothin’, I swar I didn’t, Miss Graham.  I was only—­foolin’!” and he tried to smile a sickly smile; but his eyes fell before the stern glance of the gray eyes fixed so unwaveringly on him.

“Go to your room!” said Hilda, briefly.  He hesitated.  The lock clicked, and the girl took deliberate aim.

“I’m goin’!” shrieked the rascal, and began backing towards the door, while Hilda followed step by step, still covering him with her deadly(!) weapon.  They crossed the kitchen and the back hall in this way, and Simon stumbled against the narrow stairs which led to his garret room.

“I dassn’t turn round to g’ up!” he whined; “ye’ll shoot me in the back.”  No answer; but the lock clicked again, more ominously than before.  He turned and fled up the stairs, muttering curses under his breath.  Hildegarde closed the door at the foot of the stairs, which generally stood open, bolted it, and pushed a heavy table against it.  Then she went back into the kitchen, sat down in her own little chair, and—­laughed!

Yes, laughed!  The absurdity of the whole episode, the ruffian quaking and fleeing before the empty pistol, her own martial fierceness and sanguinary determination, struck her with irresistible force, and peal after peal of silvery laughter rang through the kitchen.  Perhaps it was partly hysterical, for her nerves were unconsciously strung to a high pitch; but she was still laughing, and still holding the terrible pistol in her hand, when Dame Hartley entered the kitchen, looking startled and uneasy.

“Dear Hilda,” said the good woman, “what has been going on?  I thought surely I heard a man’s voice here.  And—­why! good gracious, child! what are you doing with that pistol?”

Hildegarde saw that there was nothing for it but to tell the simple truth, which she did in as few words as possible, trying to make light of the whole episode.  But Dame Hartley was not to be deceived, and saw at once the full significance of what had happened.  She was deeply moved.  “My dear, brave child,” she said, kissing Hilda warmly, “to think of your facing that great villain and driving him away!  The courage of you!  Though to be sure, any one could see it in your eyes, and your father a soldier so many of his days too.”

“Oh! it was not I who frightened him,” said honest Hilda, “it was the old pistol.”  But Nurse Lucy only shook her head and kissed her again.  The thought of Simon’s ingratitude and treachery next absorbed her mind, and tears of anger stood in her kind blue eyes.