“Won’t you speak to me, Rogers?” I said.
He turned at once with evident pleasure.
“I beg your pardon, sir. I was ashamed of having intruded on you, and I thought you would rather be left alone. I thought—I thought—-” hesitated the old man, “that you might like to go into the mill, for the night’s cold out o’ doors.”
“Thank you, Rogers. I won’t now. I thought you had been in bed. How do you come to be out so late?”
“You see, sir, when I’m in any trouble, it’s no use to go to bed. I can’t sleep. I only keep the old ’oman wakin’. And the key o’ the mill allus hangin’ at the back o’ my door, and knowin’ it to be a good place to—to—shut the door in, I came out as soon as she was asleep; but I little thought to see you, sir.”
“I came to find you, not thinking how the time went. Catherine Weir is gone home.”
“I am right glad to hear it, poor woman. And perhaps something will come out now that will help us.”
“I do not quite understand you,” I said, with hesitation.
But Rogers made no reply.
“I am sorry to hear you are in trouble to-night. Can I help you?” I resumed.