“Yes; and he’ll go by the little door in the wall at the bottom of the garden, and off across the home close,” said Tom.
“Do you know that?” said the vicar.
“No, sir; but that’s how he used to go to meet her; and as he’s going to join her to-night, I thowt that’s the way he’d go.”
“Very likely,” said the vicar; “and they’re sure to know it, and watch. But look here, Tom Podmore, are you willing to help him get away?”
“Yes, sir.”
“To join her?”
“Yes; I was thinking, that mebbe if he got away to join the poor bairn he’d marry her; for I s’pose he’s fond o’ the poor lass. But he must be that. She’d mak’ onny man—the very worst—fond on her.”
“Do you know any one you could get here to help you?” said the vicar. “I mean a stout sturdy fellow with brains, who could be depended on to help you back me up if we have to make a struggle for it.”
“John Maine, sir, at Bultitude’s.”
“The very man. Get him here, and keep him till I come back.”