The sound of his steps brought Flick to inspect him. Flick was satisfied, for he gave a low whine of welcome and rubbed his nose against Jack's hand.
At the gate of the orchard Jack saw two figures—Bryda's and a man's; the man, with a liver-and-white pointer at his feet, leaning against the gate in an easy attitude; Bryda, on the other side, with her face flushed, and a look in her eyes like a frightened fawn.
Jack strode up to the gate, and said in a rough tone,—
'Let me pass, sir. I have business with Miss Bryda.'
'So have I, sir, and I will despatch it, by your leave, without your interference.'
Jack put his hand on the gate and pushed it towards Bryda, but a hand, apparently as strong as his, pulled it back, with an oath.
'Wait one minute, Jack, wait till this gentleman is gone. He is speaking to me about—about—'
Poor Bryda's voice broke down, and she hid her face in her hands.
'If you wish it I will wait,' Jack said. 'Do you wish me to wait?'
A faint 'Yes' was the reply.