‘What are you afraid of, Lizzie? Doesn’t Barnes know the sands as well as you do? And the moonlight is as bright as day. It’s silly to try and stop him.’
‘But he’s going to be my husband, miss,’ whispered Lizzie, weeping, into Miss Murray’s ear.
‘Oh! if that’s the case, perhaps he’d better follow your wishes,’ rejoined Rosa coldly. ‘Mine are of no consequence, of course, though I’d have liked Barnes to wear my chain—we’ve been such good company together, haven’t we, Larry?’
Her smile, and the way in which she spoke his name, determined him. He had heard the whispered conversation between her and Lizzie, and he felt vexed—he didn’t know why—that it should have occurred.
‘Be quiet, Liz,’ he said, authoritatively. ‘What’s to be has nothing to do with this. I’m only too glad to oblige Miss Rosa, even with a bit of samphire. Good-bye, my girl, and good-bye, miss; it’s close upon the stroke of ten, so you mayn’t see me again till to-morrow morning; but when you do, it’ll be with the bunch of samphire in my hand!’
He darted away from them as he spoke, and left the barn; whilst Lizzie Locke, disappointed at his departure, and frightened for his safety, wept bitterly. But the noise around them was so great, and everyone was so much occupied with his or her own pleasure, that little notice was taken of the girl’s emotion.
‘Come, Lizzie, don’t be foolish,’ urged Miss Murray, in a whisper, afraid lest the errand on which she had sent Larry should become public property. ‘Your lover will be back in an hour, at the latest.’
‘He’ll never come back, miss! You’ve sent him to his death; I feel sure of it,’ replied Lizzie, sobbing.
‘This is too ridiculous,’ said Rosa. ‘If you intend to make such a fool of yourself as this, Lizzie, I think you had much better go home to your aunt. Shall I send Jane Williams back with you? You know her; she’s a kind girl, and she’ll lead you as safely as Larry would.’