“Go on!” she replied, softly, half glad, half doubtful.
“I am an’ all,” he repeated, pressing her more tightly to him.
I went down the passage, and stood in the open doorway looking out into the night. It seemed a long time. Then I heard the thin voice of the old woman at the top of the stairs:
“Meg! Meg! Send ’im off now. Come on!”
In the silence that followed there was a murmur of voices, and then they came into the passage.
“Good-night, my lad, good luck to thee!” cried the voice like a ghoul from upper regions.
He kissed his betrothed a rather hurried good-night at the door.
“Good-night,” she replied softly, watching him retreat. Then we heard her shoot the heavy bolts.
“You know,” he began, and he tried to clear his throat. His voice was husky and strangulated with excitement. He tried again:
“You know—she—she’s a clinker.”