Frogs' Hall stood on a bank a foot or two above the Brooks to lift it over the winter floods and high leap-tides. Two windows only, one above the other, looked out over the river. Ernie peeped from his ambush. The lower window was open; and a voice came through it.
The voice was not that of Ruth, nor of her father or mother, but it was strangely familiar.
"You don't want me," it was urging. "Very well. So be it. And I don't want to do you no harm. Why should I?—I shan't tell no one what I know. Only you must give me back that letter in exchange. Fair is fair. See, we've both made mistakes, you and me. That's the short of it. But there's no reason any one should know if you'll only be sensible."
Ernie heard Ruth's answer, low and passionate.
"I wun't give it you then!—I'll hold it over you. Then I'll know I got you safe. Show it your Church friends and Mrs. Trupp and all."
Alf laughed harshly.
"Think it over, my lass," he said. "I'll call again in a day or two. I can twist your tail, and I will if you want."
He came out of the low-browed door, his eyes down, a thwarted look upon his face. It was not till he had descended the steps into the Brooks that he was aware of the man standing against the bunch of willows on his left.
He turned about with a grunt and made off in the direction of Parson's Tye.
A few yards away he turned again and came back swiftly, his eyes down, and face troubled.