“Betty!”
A start and a shiver went through her, but she did not raise her face.
“I saw the glare,” he whispered behind her into her upturned ear, “and my heart misgave me and I rode over to your help. Yes, it is too late for him, Betty; but, for yourself, my dear? It is no time to speak of it all now; but if there has been villainy here, I will spend my fortune at need to procure its punishment. Betty!”
She only buried her face deeper in her arm. He put his hand on her shoulder with a caressing touch; then removed it and crossed to the kneeling woman.
“Tell me,” he said, stooping and speaking low—“has she any one relation in the village?”
“No, sir. Them two was alone in the world.”
“Friends—acquaintances? Any single soul who would show her kindness in this great affliction?”
The woman scrambled to her feet.
“Betty was none disliked,” she said. “But, Lord ha’ mercy, sir! is it righteous to talk to the poor, in sick a winter as this, o’ the grace o’ charity? Will your honour look at the gal, and tell me if them busts and shoulders was like to ha’ been nourished on pitaty parings?”
“She is ruined?”