'That's a bad un, he is—oh, Miss, Miss Maud! It's nout that's
good as keeps him an' fayther—(mind, lass, ye promised you
would not tell no one)—as keeps them two a-talkin' and a-smokin'
secret-like together in the mill. An' fayther don't know I
found him out. They don't let me into the town, but Brice tells
me, and he knows it's Dudley; and it's nout that's good, but
summat very bad. An' I reckon, Miss, it's all about you. Be ye
frightened, Miss Maud?'
I felt on the point of fainting, but I rallied.
'Not much, Meg. Go on, for Heaven's sake. Does Uncle Silas
know he is here?'
'Well, Miss, they were with him, Brice told me, from eleven
o'clock to nigh one o' Tuesday night, an' went in and come out
like thieves, 'feard ye'd see 'em.'
'And how does Brice know anything bad?' I asked, with a
strange freezing sensation creeping from my heels to my head
and down again—I am sure deadly pale, but speaking very collectedly.
'Brice said, Miss, he saw Dudley a-cryin' and lookin' awful
black, and says he to fayther, "'Tisn't in my line nohow, an' I
can't;" and says fayther to he, "No one likes they soart o'
things, but how can ye help it? The old boy's behind ye wi'
his pitchfork, and ye canna stop." An' wi' that he bethought
him o' Brice, and says he, "What be ye a-doin' there? Get
ye down wi' the nags to blacksmith, do ye." An' oop gits Dudley, pullin' his hat ower his brows, an' says he, "I wish I was in the Seamew. I'm good for nout wi' this thing a-hangin' ower me." An' that's all as Brice heard. An' he's afeard o' fayther and Dudley awful. Dudley could lick him to pot if he crossed him, and he and fayther 'ud think nout o' havin' him afore the justices for poachin', and swearin' him into gaol.'
'But why does he think it's about me?'
'Hish!' said Meg, who fancied she heard a sound, but all was
quiet. 'I can't say—we're in danger, lass. I don't know why—but
he does, an' so do I, an', for that matter, so do ye.'
'Meg, I'll leave Bartram.'
'Ye can't.'
'Can't. What do you mean, girl?'
'They won't let ye oot. The gates is all locked. They've dogs—they've
bloodhounds, Brice says. Ye can't git oot, mind; put
that oot o' your head.
'I tell ye what ye'll do. Write a bit o' a note to the lady
yonder at Elverston; an' though Brice be a wild fellah, and
'appen not ower good sometimes, he likes me, an' I'll make him
take it. Fayther will be grindin' at mill to-morrow. Coom ye
here about one o'clock—that's if ye see the mill-sails a-turnin'—and
me and Brice will meet ye here. Bring that old lass wi' ye. There's an old French un, though, that talks wi' Dudley. Mind ye, that un knows nout o' the matter. Brice be a kind lad to me, whatsoe'er he be wi' others, and I think he won't split. Now, lass, I must go. God help ye; God bless ye; an', for the world's wealth, don't ye let one o' them see ye've got ought in your head, not even that un.'
Before I could say another word, the girl had glided from me, with a wild gesture of silence, and a shake of her head.
I can't at all account for the state in which I was. There are
resources both of energy and endurance in human nature which
we never suspect until the tremendous voice of necessity summons
them into play. Petrified with a totally new horror, but
with something of the coldness and impassiveness of the transformation, I stood, spoke, and acted—a wonder, almost a terror, to myself.
I met Madame on my return as if nothing had happened. I
heard her ugly gabble, and looked at the fruits of her hour's
shopping, as I might hear, and see, and talk, and smile, in a dream.
But the night was dreadful. When Mary Quince and I were
alone, I locked the door. I continued walking up and down the
room, with my hands clasped, looking at the inexorable floor, the walls, the ceiling, with a sort of imploring despair. I was afraid to tell my dear old Mary. The least indiscretion would be failure, and failure destruction.
I answered her perplexed solicitudes by telling her that I was
not very well—that I was uneasy; but I did not fail to extract
from her a promise that she would not hint to mortal, either
my suspicions about Dudley, or our rencontre with Meg Hawkes.