Leo acknowledged the bow without rising, bent lower over her book, and, with teeth set hard, stole one hand under the cloth to grasp the edge of the table and grip it with all her might.
“What, about the vestry meeting—to tell me Dr North was ill?”
“Doctor ill! Is he though, sir?” croaked Moredock, as his red eyes wandered from face to face.
“Yes, he is unwell, Moredock, and cannot come.”
“Bad job—bad job, sir! Doctors has no business to be ill. S’p’ose I was took bad, I shouldn’t like to trust Dr Benson. I never did have no faith in King’s Hampton folk at all. But it warn’t about that.”
“What, then? Nothing serious, I hope?”
“Ay; but it be, sir,” croaked the old man, staring for a moment at Mary, and then fixing his eyes upon Leo. “It is very ser’ous. Some un’s been in the night and made a burgly in the chutch.”
“What!” cried Salis, starting up. “Great heavens, Moredock! is this true?”
“Ay, it be true enough, parson.”
“But they haven’t taken the plate?”