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.