pleasure at seeing the comely Mary, as was clearly demonstrated by the
ungallant manner in which he tried to brace himself back as she drew
him forward.

When finally released, he said in a sceptical voice, as he indignantly
put to rights his disturbed linen:

"Oh, thou art glad to see me, art thou? P'raps thou art; strange
things happen in this world. Yet I'll be bound that it's not for
myself thou art glad." While speaking, he knitted his eyebrows in a
most menacing manner. He was a small, thin man, about forty-five
years of age, and clean shaven. As he stood eyeing Mary through his
glasses he looked a crusted character enough.

"Nay, lad," she said reproachfully, putting her hand on his arm,
"don't thou talk in a tone like that and look so sour; it don't become
thee; it's not natural, too, and thou knows it." Then she went on
anxiously: "Thou knows what is troubling me; thou art the maister's
private servant, and he must have told thee what has happened. Now we
mun think o' something, John, to stop 'em from breaking up in this
way. We daren't go and tell anyone else about the trouble, so do, lad,
do try and think o' something, for there's no time to be lost." In her
excitement and distress she almost shook him.

The repellent look was still on John's face as he replied more
ungraciously than before: "Nay, I can think o' nowt. I can tell thee,
though, that the maister's told me to have the carriage ready to catch
the train that goes east at nine" (he turned and looked at the clock
on the mantel--it was 8.15), "and, as thou sees, that'll be in
forty-five minutes. Of course, thou knows that I shall go wi' him."