“You’ve got some plates, I suppose, and one knife and fork at least. Go and fetch them. Make haste, make haste!”
And she rattled her crutch upon the floor. The old dog was hungry too; he came sniffing and barking about her, as if he knew that she had brought help to him and his master. Dick had some plates and knives and forks, and a broken teapot. These Freda arranged upon the table with nimble, graceful fingers. For the moment, moved by the unguessed extremities to which her host was reduced, she had forgotten that the chief object of her visit was one of warning.
She was recalled to the truth in a startling manner. A handful of earth and stones was flung up at one of the lofty windows by some one in the court-yard. Freda sprang forward with a cry, her worst fears confirmed; as Dick turned hastily from the table, she clung to his arm and tried to speak. But at first words refused to come.
CHAPTER XXXI.
When Freda recovered her voice, Dick had broken away from her restraining touch, and was moving, in a hesitating sort of way, towards the door.
“Dick?” cried the girl in a frightened whisper, “Listen! I had forgotten why I came. There are men coming here, perhaps to-night, policemen from London, I think. Is—he—safe?”
Dick started, and began to tremble violently.
“Great Heavens!” he said in a hoarse voice, “how did you know? How did you hear? Is it known all over the place?”
“I don’t know,” said Freda sadly, “but I don’t think it is. Barnabas didn’t seem to know anything about it.”
He stood still for a moment, considering.