“Bless her!” she said, with a little laugh that was like a baby born of old Moredock’s chuckle. “How she will catch it! Serve her right: trying to come between us. But she may try after this. She’ll get out to see him no more, and he’ll soon forget her.”
All was very still without, and Dally strained her ears to catch a sound, her eyes to make out some dark figure pacing the garden.
“I wonder where he is?” she said to herself. “He’d wait for her if it was for a month, and then my fine lady will catch it nicely.
“I wish I knew where he was,” she muttered, and her wish was gratified, for all at once, as she was pressing the casement open another quarter of an inch, there was a low cough from down to her left, as Salis altered his position in his chair.
“He’s watching just inside the drawing-room window,” Dally said to herself, as she clasped her little hands together; “and when my lady comes home—”
Dally paused.
“My lady! No, she shan’t never be my lady,” she hissed fiercely. “I’d kill her, and gran’fa should bury her first.”
“When she comes home,” continued Dally with another malicious little laugh, “she’ll wish she had never gone. I’ll hear some of the row if I have to leave.
“Ah! It’ll pay me for her getting a few kisses, and having his arm round her waist a bit. Ugh! how I hate the nasty, good-looking minx. I wish she was dead!”
Daily’s teeth gritted together in the darkness, and she uttered a low, hissing noise, as she writhed in her jealousy, and pictured to herself the scene that was probably going on at the Hall.