“Move a step, and I send for the policeman,” roared Corrie.
“In which case,” retorted the postman, “I’ll just ha’ to give ye in charge. For what, I ask ye, was ye doin’ up the ladder yesterday, about 12.30 p.m.?”
“By God, postman. I’ll—”
“I’m askin’ ye a straight question. I was comin’ down the hill at the time, but I’ve guid sight still, and what’s more I had a witness. Ye can say ye was paying attention to yer ivy—an’ truth it needs it!—but in that case, I would ask ye if the ivy was growing inside o’ this young lady’s bedroom. . . . Come, Miss. He’ll no’ touch ye.” And opening the door, and then gently pushing Corrie out of the way, he took possession of the bag and hold-all.
And he and the girl passed out without hindrance.
When they had gone the woman turned a ghastly face on her brother.
“John, ye mun tell me what he meant about the ladder.”
As if he had not heard, Corrie staggered out of the house and took the road to White Farm.
Sam put his charge into the express with many injunctions and a package of sweets. Kitty had scarcely spoken during the drive, and now speech failed her altogether. She could only cling to his rough hand, and nod her promises to send her address, when she found one, and let him know if ever she required help. He was a lonely man, and she had given him a new and great interest in life.
They were too much engrossed at the last minute to notice a high-wheeled gig dash up to the station gate and deposit a passenger who entered the train lower down just as it was starting.