"Well, you're spry enough with your fingers and legs when you like. I can't stay out here talking any more, Het."
Hetty came up close to her aunt, and lowered her voice to a whisper.
"Aunt Fanny," she said, "one word afore you goes in—Do you think it is safe, him coming back like this?"
"Safe," echoed the elder woman in a tone hoarse with a queer mixture of crossness and undefined fear. "Squire's safe enough ef you can keep things to yourself."
"Me?" echoed Hetty. "Do you think I can't hold my tongue?"
"Your tongue may be silent, but there are other ways of letting out a secret. Ef ever there was a tell-tale face yours is one. You're the terror of my life with your aches and your pains, and your startings, as if you saw a shadow behind yer all the time. It's a good thing you don't live in the village. As to Vincent, pore man, he's as blind as a bat; he don't see, or he won't see, what's staring him in the face."
"For God's sake, Aunt Fanny, what do you mean?"
"I mean this, girl. Vincent's wife carries a secret, and she loves one she ought not to love."
"Oh! Aunt Fanny, you rend my heart when you talk like that."
"I won't again," said Mrs. Armitage, "but I had to speak out when you came to-day. It was my opportunity, and I had to take it. Queer stories will be spread ef you ain't very careful. You've nought to do with the Squire, Hetty. Go and see him to-night with the rest of 'em, and then be satisfied. You keep quiet at the farm now he's at the Court; don't you be seen a-talking to him or a-follerin' him about."