To me, thus engaged, tho’ with wandering thoughts, came Martha, care upon her brow and secrecy in her gait.
“There’s som’b’dy in th’ shippen wants thee, Ben. Oh! dunnot let Mary know. He doesn’t want any but thee to know he’s here.”
“Who is it?” I said beneath my breath. “It’s him,” said Martha, and nodded to me significantly.
“George?”
“Aye, George.”
Just then Mary came out of the parlour with a duster in her hand, and I made pretence to be wrapt up in my ledger. Martha turned to go.
“What are yo’ two whispering about?” Mary said suspiciously.
“Oh, nought,” said Martha.
“Summot an’ nought,” I said, for Mary kept looking from one to the other.
“I don’t believe you, Ben. What’s agate? oh! Ben, don’t trifle wi’ me this morn for aw feel as if th’ world were coming to an end, and more mysteries and horrors will drive me mad.”