“How could he, when I met her by the mill-stream, weeping?”
“You met her?”
“Ay, did I, by the mill-stream. It was early dawn, and the birds alone were awake, as well as Mad Maud. Ha—ha! I met her, and, I will tell you, she had the child; and she wept while I kissed and blessed it.”
“But, about this man, Gray? Speak more of him—I pray you, speak of him.”
“I know him not, but Frank Hartleton, who always had a kind word for poor Maud, which makes me believe him—he says, that before sunset, Gray shall be in prison, and that he is a villain.”
Gray rose with his features convulsed with rage and fear, and approaching Maud, he said, in a husky whisper,—
“Woman—on your soul, did he say those words?”
“He did. It will be brave work!”
“How is this?” cried Gray, clasping his hands. “God! How is this? Am I betrayed—lost—lost!”
He sank in a chair with a deep groan, at the moment that, the landlord opened the door, saying—