When I returned, having made this dispositions, I perceived how pale the girl was.
'Are you ill, Meg?' I asked.
'Never ye mind. Well enough. Listen, Miss; I must tell it all in a crack, an' if she calls, rin awa' to her, and le' me to myself, for if fayther or t'other un wor to kotch me here, I think they'd kill me a'most. Hish!'
She paused a second, looking askance, in the direction where she fancied Mary Quince was. Then she resumed in a whisper—
'Now, lass, mind ye, ye'll keep what I say to yourself. You're not to tell that un nor any other for your life, mind, a word o' what I'm goin' to tell ye.'
'I'll not say a word. Go on.'
'Did ye see Dudley?'
'I think I saw him getting up the ladder.'
'In the mill? Ha! that's him. He never went beyond Todcaster. He staid in Feltram after.'
It was my turn to look pale now. My worst conjecture was established.