“Took he any note of you, either time?”
“When he met me alone, he doffed his cap and smiled, but spake not. This morrow he took no note of any one.”
“Could she be going to meet him?” saith Aunt Joyce in a low and very troubled voice.
“In good sooth, Aunt,” said I, “you have put into words my very fear, which I did scarce dare to think right out.”
“Edith,” saith she, “is Milly within, or no?”
“She was tying on her hood a moment since, as though she meant to go forth. I saw her through a chink of the door, which was not close shut, as I passed by.”
“Come thou with me quickly,” saith Aunt Joyce, and rose up. “We will follow her. ’Tis no treachery to lay snare for a traitor, if it be as I fear. And ’tis not she that is the traitor, poor child—poor, foolish child!”
We walked quickly, for our aim was to keep Milisent but just in view, yet not to let her see us. She was walking fast, too, and she took the road to Nanny’s, but turned off just ere she were there, into the little shaw that lieth by the way. We followed quietly, till we could hear voices: then Aunt Joyce stayed her behind a poplar-tree, and made me a sign to be still.
“All things be now ordered, my fairest,” I heard a voice say which methought was Sir Edwin’s: and peeping heedfully round the poplar, I caught a glimpse of his side-face, enough to be sure it were he. Aunt Joyce could see him likewise. “All things be ordered,” quoth he: “remember, nine o’ the clock on Sunday night.”
“But thou wilt not fail me?” saith Milisent’s voice in answer.