“What was that?” asked Mr. Brander, slowly, and, as it seemed, with difficulty.
“There wur marks on those steps down to t’ crypt as is now blocked oop. An’ down at t’ bottom. An’ Ah tramped ’em oot. An’ there war marks in other pleace as Ah made away. An’ it wur all for ye, parson, for Ah thowt of what ye’d done for ma when Ah wur ill and nobody to care for ma, an’ Ah did what Ah could.”
“You’re a good fellow, Abel,” said Mr. Brander, huskily, after a few moments’ pause. “And you’ve been a good friend to me.”
“Ah, Mester Brander, but Ah’d ha’ liked to ha’ served ye a better way,” said the man, who seemed affected in his turn.
The vicar silenced him with a peremptory “Sh-sh.” Then he said—
“You won’t be able to get far to-night on foot. It will be snowing heavily in an hour from now. You must get home by train to-night.”
Olivia guessed that he must have put money into the man’s hand, for Abel Squires answered reluctantly—
“Ah doan’t tak’ it for howding ma tongue, parson. But if ye want ma to go further, it’s but fair ye should pay for it. Here’s good-day to you, sir, and may you nivver——”
The voices were growing fainter. Olivia peeped between the stones for the first time, and saw that the oddly assorted couple were making their way among the ruined gravestones to the gate, where the vicar shook hands with the tramp, who went back up the lane towards the Sheffield road as fast as his wooden leg would let him. Mr. Brander stood at the gate until long after Abel had disappeared from sight at a bend of the lane. His back was towards Olivia, and all that she could see was that he remained extraordinarily still. The snow, which from a few feathery flakes had gradually thickened into a blinding storm, grew at last so dense that no mental abstraction could shut it out. The vicar suddenly threw back his head, and apparently taking in the fact that he was getting wet through, gave himself a violent shake to get rid of the white covering which already enveloped him, turned and walked rapidly back to the church.
As soon as Olivia heard the rattle of the lock, she sprang out of her shelter, struggling with her umbrella as she went, hurried over the uneven ground within the ruined aisle, where a few minutes before Mr. Brander and the tramp had been standing, and steering rapidly and neatly between the broken and scattered tombstones, reached the gate in very few seconds. As she flitted quickly through, however, a gust of wind blew the skirt of her waterproof against the bars of the gate, which swung to behind her with a loud creaking noise. She ran on, and in a minute was out of sight to any one at the church door, hidden by the churchyard wall. But Mr. Brander, hearing the noise, and being naturally rather startled by the idea that some one had been about during his very private conversation with Squires, was too quick for her. He was out of the church and on the track of the intruder before she had got many steps up the lane. She was just past the bend when he suddenly came up with her. One umbrellaed and waterproofed woman in a snowstorm is so like another that he had not the slightest idea who his quarry was until he had passed her and turned to look back. As he did so he caught sight of her face, and instantly stopped.