“Your brother? Tchah, no!” cried the woman, forgetting her “chronics” in the interest she felt in the fresh subject. “You’re always thinking about your brother, and if’s time you began to think of a husband. I meant him at the Manor—young Claud Wilton. He’s come back.”
“Come back?” cried Jenny excitedly.
“Yes; but I hear he arn’t brought his young missus with him. Nice goings on, running away, them two, to get married. But I arn’t surprised; he fell out with the parson long enough ago about Sally Deal, down the village, and parson give it him well for not marrying her. Wouldn’t be married here out o’ spite, I suppose. Well, I must go. You’re sure you haven’t got a drop o’ gin in the house?”
“Quite sure,” said Jenny quickly; “and I’ll be sure and tell my brother to come.”
“Ay, do; and tell him I say it’s a shame he lives so far out of the village. I feel sometimes that I shall die in one of the ditches before I get here, it’s so far. There, don’t hurry me so; I don’t want to be took ill here. I know, doctors aren’t above helping people out of the world when they get tired of them.”
“Gone!” cried Jenny at last, with a sigh of relief; and then, with the tears rising to her eyes, “Oh, what shall I do? What shall I do? If they meet—if he ever gets to know!”
She hurried upstairs, put on her hat and jacket, and came down looking pale and excited, but without any very definite plans. One idea was foremost in her mind; but as she reached the door she caught sight of her brother coming with rapid strides from the direction opposite to that taken by the old woman who had just gone.
“Too late!” she said, with a piteous sigh; and she ran upstairs hurriedly, and threw off her things.
She had hardly re-arranged her hair when she heard her brother’s voice calling her.
“Yes, dear,” she said, and she ran down, to find him looking ghastly.