“Ye’ll ha’ to manage by yourself for an hour,” he said rapidly, “I mun hurry to White Farm—”
“But now, John, ye’ll tell Kitty the truth,” she cried excitedly. “I got her address this morning. I can trust ye wi’ it now, for ye’re a changed man, as I’m a changed woman—”
“What’s the address?”
“366 Long Acre, London—care o’ Miss Risk.”
“I’ll mind it. Well, I mun run, or I’ll miss Symington. I’ll master him yet—aye, I will that, by God!”
“But ye—ye’ll tell Kitty the truth, John—ye’ll write to her this very day—will ye no’?” she caught his arm.
“Pah!” he shook her off. “Let me gang, woman! Well, well. I’ll see. I’ll see.”
Alone—“God!” she whispered, “is he no’ a changed man after all?”
Symington was at breakfast when Corrie broke in upon him.
“What the devil do you want?” was the spurious farmer’s greeting.