‘I’ll show you the way, sir,’ she said; ‘I know every step of it.’
‘Yes, the lass is always roaming about, like a wild creature, over the hills, and down by the sea,’ said Mrs. Darvis, with a disapproving air. ‘I don’t think she knows how to read or write, or has as much Christian knowledge as the old jackdaw in the servants’ hall.’
‘I know things that are better than reading and writing,’ said Elspeth, with a grin.
‘What kind of things may those be?’ asked Maurice.
‘Things that other people don’t know.’
‘Well, my lass, I won’t trouble you by sounding the obscure depths of your wisdom. I only want the straightest road to Trevanard’s farm. He is a tenant of this estate, I suppose, Mrs. Darvis?’
‘Yes, sir. Michael Trevanard’s father was a tenant of the old Squire’s before my time. Old Mrs. Trevanard is still living, though stone-blind, and hardly right in her head, I believe.’
They had reached the lobby door by this time, the chief hall door being kept religiously bolted and barred during the absence of the family.
‘I shall come and see you again, Mrs. Darvis, most likely, before I leave this part of the country,’ said Maurice, as he crossed the threshold. ‘Good evening.’
‘You’ll be welcome at any time, sir. Good evening.’