For a minute or two he sat absolutely silent. Mary was hurt at the seeming indifference with which he received the news. She drew herself up a little, and said, in an altered voice,
“I will say goodby, sir. I hope you won't think I was taking a liberty in thinking you would be sorry if we were all to go without your knowing it.”
Ned roused himself at her words.
“It is not that, Polly. It is far from being that. But I want to ask you a question. You remember the night of Mr. Mulready's murder? Do you remember whether your father was at home all that evening?”
Polly opened her eyes in surprise at a question which seemed to her so irrelevant to the matter in hand;
“Yes, sir,” she replied, still coldly. “I remember that night. We are not likely any of us to forget it. Feyther had not gone to the 'Cow.' He sat smoking at home. Bill had dropped in, and they sat talking of the doings of the Luddites till it was later than usual. Feyther was sorry afterward, because he said if he had been down at the 'Cow' he might have noticed by the talk if any one had an idea that anything was going to take place.”
“Then he didn't go out at all that night, Polly?”
“No, sir, not at all that night; and now, sir, I will say goodby.”
“No, Polly, you won't, for I shall go back with you, and I don't think that you will go to America.”
“I don't understand,” the girl faltered.