“I’m going to London.”
For a moment the man was stupefied. Then his shout went down the passage leading to shop and post office—
In desperation Kitty sought to push past. He seized her arm. He was breathing hard; his face was the colour of putty.
Miss Corrie appeared.
“What is it? Oh!” she exclaimed, perceiving the luggage.
“She’s mad,” said her brother thickly, “says she going to London. Liker to jail!”
“How can she go to London or any place?” cried the woman, “unless—did ye check the cash, John?”
“Aunt Rachel!” exclaimed the girl.
“Take her luggage up the stair, Rachel,” Corrie ordered. “We’ll ha’ to do something—”