Betty held him like a mad thing.
“You shall not!” she cried. “Are you crazed? What could you do but weaken Mr. Whimple’s hands? And he would have two to his care instead of one. The girl is right and wily. She’ll have her plans, I warrant.”
Still he struggled feebly in the encircling arms.
“Run, Mr. Whimple!” she cried. “I will hold him that he cannot follow!”
The echo of the man’s footsteps already came from a distance.
“Betty!” panted her master reproachfully. “Oh! what do you make of me?”
“One, I hope, that’ll hold himself sound for all our sakes. For shame! Have you not duties forward?”
He must allow himself to succumb to this sweet sophist. They stumbled on together once more through the dank and inky blackness. Their unshod and frozen feet suffered cruelly on the rough floor, and many little exclamations of pain were forced from either.
“Who was it that was hit by the villains, Betty?”
“’Twas the lord creature.”