“How soon is the Warhampton ’bus expected?”
“Twenty-five minutes, please, sir,” answered the woman, with another courtesy and a glance at the clock.
“That woman from Willett’s is coming by the ’bus,” he said gruffly, to Mildred. “’Tis a snug little place this, and as clean as a bone after a hungry dog. Would you mind,” he continued, addressing the stranger or hostess, whichsoever she might be, “tellin’ Archdale, if he’s here, I want a word wi’ him at the door?”
“He’s over the way, I think, sir, with the horse. I’ll call him, please, sir.”
So off she went.
“This is where poor Charles said he’d like to have his child nursed—Twyford; ’tis sweet air about here, considered. He was expectin’ a babby, poor fellow, and he talked a deal wi’ me about it the day he was took. Wouldn’t ye like a bit to eat and a glass of beer, or somethin’? They have lots over the way, for as poor as it looks; and here’s the pound I promised ye, lass, for luck, ye know, when we was leaving the Grange.”
He drew forth the hand with which he had been fumbling in his pocket and placed the piece of gold in hers.
“Thank you, Master Harry,” she said, making a little instinctive effort to rise for the purpose of executing a courtesy. But Harry, with his hand on her shoulder, repressed it.
“Sit ye quiet, and rest yourself, after joggin’ all this way; and what’s that bundle?”
“The baby’s things, sir.”