At the same instant appeared the swarthy, sullen face of Dickon Hawkes in the shadow of the aperture. Having but one serviceable leg, his descent was slow and awkward, and having got his head to the level of the loft he stopped to touch his hat to me, and to hasp and lock the trap-door.
When this was done, the man again touched his hat, and looked steadily and searchingly at me for a second or so, while he got the key into his pocket.
'These fellahs stores their flour too long 'ere, ma'am. There's a deal o' trouble a-looking arter it. I'll talk wi' Silas, and settle that.'
By this time he had got upon the worn-tiled floor, and touching his hat again, he said—
'I'm a-goin' to lock the door, ma'am!'
So with a start, and again whispering—
'Come, Mary—come away'—
With my arm fast in hers, we made a swift departure.
'I feel very faint, Mary,' said I. 'Come quickly. There's nobody following us?'
'No, Miss, dear. That man with the wooden leg is putting a padlock on the door.'