“Oh!” he said slowly, “oh, so ’tis ’ee, be it? I been watching out for ’ee.”
“What—what do you mean?”
“I remember ’ee, I do. I remember your grinning face. I’ve carried it in my memory all right. See that dawg?” The man pointed to the lurcher. “See him: he’s more’n a brother, more’n a son, more’n a wife to me. That’s the dawg you run over that day, and you grinned. I seen it—you grinned!” The man’s black eyes sparkled. He looked swiftly up the road and down it, and Slotman saw the action and quivered.
“I’ll give you—” he began. “I am very sorry; it was an accident. I’ll pay you for—”
But the man with the blazing eyes had leaped at him.
“I been waiting for ’ee, and I’ve cotched ’ee at last!” he shouted.
Johnny Everard, hands in pockets, mooning about his stock and rickyard, this calm Sunday morning, never guessed how near he had been to receiving a visitor.
He had not seen Joan since that night when, with Ellice beside him, he had seen her and the man at the door of Mrs. Bonner’s cottage.
He had meant to go, but had not gone. He was due there to-day; this very morning Helen would expect him. He had never missed spending a Sunday with them since the engagement; and yet he felt loath to go, and did not know why.