“Well, he’s pretty bad sometimes,” answered he, not giving a direct answer. “Perhaps you haven’t heard the way he cries out, and the odd noises he makes, miss?”
Chris gave a little shudder.
“Yes; and it’s very dreadful to hear him. But——”
She paused, and looked at the sky, which, now darkening a little towards evening, could be seen between the bare branches of the trees. Stelfox was silent too, but it suddenly flashed through the mind of Chris that his was a discreet silence which had meaning in it. Before either spoke again, Stelfox lifted the lid of the box-ottoman near which he was standing, and rapidly but very quietly slipped inside the two books he had been carrying, and was immediately in the same attitude of respectful attention as before. Then for the first time she heard the creaking of a stair, and, turning her head, she saw Mr. Bradfield approaching.
To her great delight, for she had begun on the instant to dread a tête-à-tête with him, Mr. Bradfield scowled as he caught sight of her, and disappeared into a sort of workshop he had on the first floor, where he often spent the afternoon busy with a turning-lathe.
As soon as his master was out of sight, Stelfox took the two books out of the ottoman. Chris watched him in evident surprise. Then a thought struck her.
“You were going to take those books to Mr. Richard?” she asked, in a low voice.
“Yes, miss.”
“And you were afraid he wouldn’t like you to?”