“Good lad. The leddy wants to get to the station as soon as possible. Is the horse put to?”
“Yes, and the milk is in the cart, but yer see, missus, it beant much of a trap—I mean there aint much room to spare. I wish I’d a better turn out, ’taint good enough for the loikes of un.” This was said in a whisper, but Miss Stanbridge heard every word.
“I am quite content,” said she, addressing herself to the lad. “Nobody knows me hereabouts. If we had to travel through the streets of London, it would be a different matter, you know.”
In a minute or so after this the milk cart was at the door of the farmhouse, and Laura, who had gone upstairs to arrange her hair, and to make something like a rude toilette, quickly descended, and after thanking her hostess and wishing her farewell, stepped into the cart and sat herself beside the lad.
“Be careful, be very careful, and mind the ruts,” was the last injunction his mistress gave him as he drove off.
“Now for it,” murmured Miss Stanbridge. “If we should chance to run across any of the warders I am lost. But the probability is that they won’t any of them be about thus early. They never are in places where they are wanted. Not that I want to see any of their ugly visages. Anyway there’s no help for it now. I must take my chance as many have done before me under similar circumstances.”
The road to the station was evidently not much frequented; for some considerable time after the horse and cart had left the farmhouse not a solitary passenger or vehicle met the eyes of either Nat or Miss Stanbridge.
So far all went on well.
“Not many vehicles about it would seem,” observed the latter.
“No, not many. Seldom is at this time. Ye see it’s a cross road, and people doesn’t care about driving over it, except them as is obliged, and there beant many of those. It be very lonely by night though.”