‘My basket!’ she said, ‘how did you come by that? I have been looking for it since yesterday. The little girl thought she had taken it down the village’—and there came a strange alteration in the expression of her face. Nat observed the change, and it seemed to him an accusation; he hastened to defend his family and himself.
‘Molly brought it down to us yestermorn,’ he said, vexed to find his voice thick and his face hot. ‘Mr Robson had sent some raspberries to us, and we thought that the basket must belong to him. But I saw your name in the corner of it, miss, an’ so I thought as I’d bring it up to you.’
She turned it over with the prettiest little movement, and looked at the name in the corner, and glanced up at him and smiled. ‘T. G. ... Tina Gillan ....’ she read out to herself; ‘it was clever of you to guess that it was mine. And I am sure it was kind of you to bring it up to-night, and you shall have my very best thanks before you go.’ And then, all at once, as if some sudden idea had seized her, she bit her red lips, and looked down, and was mute. When she spoke to him again she did not raise her eyes, and the change in her voice made it sound quite differently.
‘What is your name?’
‘Nat Salter,’ he said, surprised at her altered manner, but too much surprised to be offended yet.
‘Salter .... Salter .... I remember that name .... Do you know my brother—have you come to speak to him?’
‘I don’t know what you mean, miss,’ answered Nat. ‘I’ve never spoke to your brother in my life.’ She looked at him with a hard, searching glance, and then lowered her eyes once more, and seemed to think. Whatever her thoughts were they did not appear to soothe her, for when she spoke again her voice was sharp and quick.
‘You have not come up here to receive a letter; you will not take away a letter when you go?’
‘I don’t know what you mean at all, miss,’ replied Nat, confused. ‘I’ve never took no letters, except the letters of the Squire.’ Apparently she believed him, for she did not question him further; and when she spoke her voice had become soft again. It was time, for the angry colour had mounted to his forehead, the feeling that he was suspected had roused his pride.
‘You live down in the village?’ she asked him, gently, as if she were sorry, and wished to show interest in him. ‘Have you many brothers and sisters in your home? Do sit down whilst you talk, for I know you must be tired.’