"God deliver us from such monsters!" said Mary, and left the room.
She went into the kitchen. Lee sat there smoking. When she came in he rose, and, knocking the ashes out of his pipe, touched his forehead and stood looking at her.
"Now then, old friend," she said, "come here."
He followed her out. She led the way swiftly, through the silent night, across the yard, over a small paddock, up to the sheep-yard beside the woolshed. There she turned shortly round, and, leaning on the fence, said abruptly—
"No one can hear us here, William Lee. Now, what have you to say?"
He seemed to hesitate a moment, and then began: "Mrs. Hawker, have I been a good servant to you?"
"Honest, faithful, kindly, active; who could have been a better servant than you, William Lee! A friend, and not a servant; God is my witness; now then?"
"I am glad to hear you say so," he answered. "I did you a terrible injury once; I have often been sorry for it since I knew you, but it cannot be mended now."
"Since you knew me?" she said. "Why, you have known me ever since I have been in the country, and you have never injured me since then, surely."
"Ay, but at home," he said. "In England. In Devonshire."