“Do your work in the office to-morrow morning as usual.”
So her uncle intended to keep his promise that she should “go free” until the following night. But after that, what?
If Kitty had disliked Symington in the past, she hated him, nay, detested him now. Yes, and despised him. His assault on Sam had brought about the last. To give Symington his due, he had regretted the blow almost at once. It had been a stupid blunder to make in Kitty’s presence. Her indignant, contemptuous words had told him that.
He had gone home angry with himself, cursing the postman, feeling that it would be inadvisable, if not fatal, to approach the girl again until the thing had cooled in her mind. Then he could apologize, blaming the outburst on his overpowering desire for her. Yes, he had better give her a week, during which Old Corrie would, of course, continue to exert his influence. Meantime he would make a trip to London. Whether he liked it or not, he must convert a few Zeniths into cash.
Kitty endured a bad two hours before sleep came, but nature won at last, and she passed the remainder of the night in blessed unconsciousness.
* * * * *
With the morning mail-bags Sam arrived in a heated condition, puffing and blowing.
“I was in such a hurry to see how ye was, Miss,” he explained. “Keeping up your heart?”
She gave him a nod and a brave smile. Poor old Sam! he was good and kind and willing, but how could he really help her from her hideous plight?
They fell to work on the contents of the sacks, and the minutes ticked past.