“Mr. Langley, the minister, whom everybody looks up to, thought ever so much of Mr. Cartwright. I don’t believe he has forgotten him,” she asserted.
“Mr. Langley! You know Mr. Langley!” he exclaimed. “O tell me of him, please.”
“I have only seen him to speak to him once. But he is—O very impressive—I mean you take to him and feel he’s wonderful just as those who have always known him do.”
“How does he look? But I shall see him. I must. I’ll see him to-night. Does—but I ought not to let you stay here longer. It’s dark already. My name is John Converse. May I ask to whom I am indebted for this kindness?”
“I am Alice Lorraine,” she said, rising reluctantly.
He asked if he might walk to the Hollow with her. The girl hesitated, wondering if it were safe for him.
“I am sorry I am so shabby, Miss Lorraine,” he said. “I have decent clothes over at Marsden Bridge where I am staying—I didn’t dare risk Wenham—but I am less likely to be recognized in these.”
They set out at once. But they had gone only a few rods beyond the lane when the sound of light footsteps came clearly to them in the absolute stillness of the damp autumn evening.
“That’s Mr. Langley,” he said quietly. “I’ll have to leave you. He’s the one person I dare not meet even in black night.”
“O wait!” begged Alice in agonised whisper, panic stricken at the thought that she would never see him again. But at that moment a dark figure appeared in sight. Alice pressed the keys into the stranger’s hand. “To-morrow at four. I’ll come to the shop,” she whispered. John Converse disappeared into the bushes by the roadside.