"Well, I don't know," said Mrs. Randal vaguely. "All I know is, Mr. Bland, John told me as he and Polly Alfrick had had words about it and broke off the engagement. But do go on, please. Who was it as run away with Lily—and how did you chance to find her?"
In answer, Mr. Bland gave an eloquent account of the scene in the Moreton Road waiting-room that morning. It appeared from this that he had not seen Lily's captors. He knew from her own chatter that they were a man and a woman—"ugly and nasty," she described them. With a grave face and earnest manner, watching Mrs. Randal all the time, he went on to repeat more of the child's talk. He thought it of great importance, for it had convinced him that Lily was a child stolen with the intention of gaining a reward; and he was inclined to think that the same man and woman were the cause of both her disappearances.
While these two were talking in the kitchen, Lily, happy and excited, had found her John in the garden. He was gathering some late apples, and it was not a wise day to choose for this, as grass and leaves and fruit were all soaking from the late torrents of rain. But John was not in a wise frame of mind. He was so miserable that he set to work on the first thing that occurred to him, without stopping to consider. There was already a heap of shining apples under the damp tree when Lily came running down the path. It would have grieved Mrs. Randal to see them, for after such treatment they were not likely to keep, and it was the best apple-tree in the garden.
John swung himself down from the tree, when Lily's voice called him, and caught the child up in his arms.
"So you've come back, little one!" he said.
The strong young man was very pale, his eyes were wild and hollow; he looked—and his looks told the truth—as if he had been tramping all night and had eaten nothing for many hours.
"Who brought you back? Where did you come from?" he said to Lily.
In answer she poured out a torrent of musical chatter, chiefly about Mr. and Mrs. Bland and the drive in the trap and the slowness of the old horse. John listened for some time in silence. Presently he sat down on the garden bench, where many happy hours had been spent on summer evenings, and took the little girl on his knee.
"Look here—let's get a bit further back," he said. "Mr. and Mrs. Bland found you at the station—how did you get there, little one?"
"In a cart. Oh, it was dark and nasty and cold. And then they put me to bed in a room, and I was frightened—but I said my prayers—and do you know"—her voice was smothered against John's shoulder—"I asked GOD to please to bring me back to you. And so He did—didn't He?"