Bindle raced up the stairs to the Heartys' sitting-room. As he opened the door Mr. Hearty was standing by the mantelpiece, his face white and set and his lips slightly drawn from his discoloured teeth. Facing him stood Millie, with flushed face and rebellious eyes. At the sight of Bindle she uttered a cry and ran to him, threw her arms round his neck, choking with sobs.
Bindle soothed her as if she had been a child.
"Oh, don't leave me, Uncle Joe, promise, promise!" She looked at Bindle with fear in her eyes. "Promise, darling Uncle Joe."
"I won't leave the little Millikins," said Bindle reassuringly. "I won't leave yer until yer say I can go, see?"
Disengaging Millie's arms from his neck, Bindle placed her gently on the sofa, and Mrs. Hearty, who had just entered the room breathing laboriously, sat down beside the half-fainting girl, looking at her helplessly.
"Don't cry, Millie dear," Mrs. Hearty wheezed, although there were no signs of tears, as she stroked one of Millie's hands.
All this time Mr. Hearty had been looking on in a dazed way, conscious that the control of the situation was slipping from his grasp. He was roused by Bindle's voice.
"Now then, 'Earty, wot the 'ell do yer mean by this?"
It was a new Bindle that Mr. Hearty saw before him. The humorous twist had gone from his mouth, the light of fun was no longer in his eyes. Mr. Hearty saw a stern, resolute man who was demanding of him an explanation.
During the last quarter of an hour he had pictured a scene vastly different from this. He was to be the outraged father indignantly demanding an explanation from a crestfallen and humbled Bindle. Through his mind there had passed the thought that the enemy had been delivered into his hands. He had felt like a righteous and triumphant Israel; and now everything had turned out so differently.