“Give me your prayers and ask me nothing,” he replied sadly. “There is more beneath the surface, sir.”
“I will respect your silence,” said the old man, taking his hand. “You are Horace North’s friend, sir, and that is sufficient for me. You are going to town?”
Salis nodded.
“My house is at your disposal,” said the doctor, and he handed Salis his card.
At five o’clock, after due arrangements had been made, Joe Chegg was at the door with a chaise, ready to drive Salis over to the station at King’s Hampton; but, long before that, Dally had begged Mrs Milt to “fetch Miss Mary,” to whom the half-wild, sobbing girl had made a clean breast, of all she knew, and this had been communicated to the curate.
“I need not fear leaving North—I mean on my sister’s behalf?” said Salis, as he stood by the chaise.
“Trust to me, my dear sir, and go without fear.”
Salis climbed into the chaise, and, with his head bent, was driven off through the chilly morning air in search of the fugitive who had nine hours’ start; and as he recalled this he muttered: “I am too late!”