“Who’ll ever say that woman is not faithful?” said the vicar to himself, as Mrs Slee hurried away to get her print hood, and, late as it was, to make her way to the station; but as she came back sobbing bitterly, he laid his hand upon her arm.
“You need not go, Mrs Slee; your husband and his confederate have escaped.”
“Escaped? got awaya?” cried Mrs Slee.
“Yes.”
“Gone out o’ the town?”
“Undoubtedly.”
“Then,” cried Mrs Slee, wiping her eyes with a hasty snatch or two of her apron, “I’m glad on it. A bad villain, to go and try to do such a thing by the place as he made his bread by. I hope to goodness he’ll niver come back,” she cried, in her old sharp vinegary tone. “I hope I may niver set eyes upon him again. Bud I don’t want him to go to prison. Bud you’re not going out again to-night, sir?” she said, imploringly.
“I must go up to the House and see that all is well there, Mrs Slee,” he replied; “and call as I go and see how poor Banks is.”
“Bud is it true, sir, that Daisy has come back?”
“Yes,” said the vicar, sadly. “Poor girl, she has returned.”