"Eh, my lass, how are ye?" said the well-known voice, whose very familiarity sounded strange behind those bars. Margaret pressed her face against the iron, she was not able to reach him—the space between was too wide for that.
Prison uniform had not been instituted then, and the preacher was still in his blue jersey, which, however, showed a good many rents,—a fact which struck Meg at once; for Barnabas kept his clothes carefully mended as a rule. He looked ill, too, and his hair and beard were untrimmed; but his hands were unshackled, which was something of a relief to her.
He devoured her with his eyes hungrily, and asked question after question as to how she was, and how she had been, with an eagerness and insistence that left her little time to question him.
"I wish I could see ye better!" he cried impatiently. "Turn your head to the light, Margaret. I can't half see you in that thing!"
The straight side of her straw bonnet threw her face into shade, and she untied the strings, meaning to take it off to please him, remembering, with a slight tightening of the throat, how her father had proffered the same request; but Barnabas stopped her hastily.
"No, no. Not here!" he said. "Ye can't uncover your head for all those fellows to see. Ye hadn't ought to be here at all, wi' me not free to take care of ye. Where's Tom?"
"He is waiting for me, in the outer yard," said Meg. "Oh, Barnabas, I ought to have been here before; but I never heard till last night; indeed, if I had known, I would have come."
"I wasn't blamin' ye," he answered. "But look 'ee here, my lass; time's nearly up, and I've a deal to say that'll hardly get said now. I'm thinking this must be my last sight of ye till I'm free, or till——"
"There is no 'or,'" said Meg cheerfully. "Of course, they must set you free."
But she clung tighter to the rails; her knees felt weak with the long walk.