‘I don’t know,’ Oswald whispered. ‘I suppose it wasn’t Albert’s uncle?’
‘Then don’t you see it’s all right. If she’s going on like that with this fellow she’ll want to marry him, and Albert’s uncle is safe. And we’ve really done an unselfish action without having to suffer for it afterwards.’
With a stealthy movement Oswald rubbed his hands as he spoke in real joyfulness. We decided that we had better bunk unnoticed. But we had reckoned without Martha. She had strolled off limping to look about her a bit in the shrubbery. ‘Where’s Martha?’ Dora suddenly said.
‘She went that way,’ pointingly remarked H. O.
‘Then fetch her back, you young duffer! What did you let her go for?’ Oswald said. ‘And look sharp. Don’t make a row.’
He went. A minute later we heard a hoarse squeak from Martha--the one she always gives when suddenly collared from behind--and a little squeal in a lady-like voice, and a man say ‘Hallo!’ and then we knew that H. O. had once more rushed in where angels might have thought twice about it. We hurried to the fatal spot, but it was too late. We were just in time to hear H. O. say--
‘I’m sorry if she frightened you. But we’ve been looking for you. Are you Albert’s uncle’s long-lost grandmother?’
It seemed vain to add seven more agitated actors to the scene now going on. We stood still. The man was standing up. He was a clergyman, and I found out afterwards he was the nicest we ever knew except our own Mr Briston at Lewisham, who is now a canon or a dean, or something grand that no one ever sees. At present I did not like him. He said, ‘No, this lady is nobody’s grandmother. May I ask in return how long it is since you escaped from the lunatic asylum, my poor child, and whence your keeper is?’
H. O. took no notice of this at all, except to say, ‘I think you are very rude, and not at all funny, if you think you are.’
The lady said, ‘My dear, I remember you now perfectly. How are all the others, and are you pilgrims again to-day?’
H. O. does not always answer questions. He turned to the man and said--
‘Margaret,’ said the clergyman, ‘I never thought it would come to this: he asks me my intentions.’
‘If you ARE,’ said H. O., ‘it’s all right, because if you do Albert’s uncle can’t--at least, not till you’re dead. And we don’t want him to.’