‘Oh, it’s—it’s that dreadful Andrew Burge. He overtook me on the downs and tried to kiss me. I think he’s tipsy, and I know he’s running after me.’
‘Nay now, my dear, don’t ’ee take on so. He’ll not hurt ye here—I’ll see to that. Dang his impidence! Tried to kiss ye, did he? That chap needs to be taught his place.’
‘I’m sure he’s coming down the path now,’ cried Rosalie, wringing her hands. ‘Oh, dear, if he does n’t come here I dare say he’ll go back to the farm, and I shall find him there when I go home.’
‘Now, don’t ’ee go on shakin’ and cryin’ so. Don’t ye be so excited, Rosalie,’ said Isaac, who was himself very red in the face and violently perturbed. ‘Come, I’ll walk home along of ye, and if I do find him there I’ll settle him—leastways, if you’ll give me leave. Ye don’t want to have nothin’ more to say to ’en, do ye? Very well, then, ’t will be easy enough to get rid of ’en.’
So Isaac Sharpe, without pausing to pull a coat over his smock-frock, duly escorted Mrs. Fiander across the downs and home by the short cut; and, as Rosalie had surmised, Susan greeted them on the threshold with the pleasing information that Mr. Burge was waiting for her in the parlour.
‘Very good,’ said Isaac. ‘Leave ’en to me, my dear. Jist you go to the dairy, or up to your room, or anywheres ye like out o’ the road. I’ll not be very slack in getting through wi’ this here job.’
He watched her until she had disappeared from view, and then suddenly throwing open the parlour door shouted in stentorian tones to its solitary occupant:
‘Now then, you must get out o’ this!’
Burge, who had been sitting in a somnolent condition before the fire, woke up, and stared in surprise mingled with alarm at the white-robed giant who advanced threateningly towards him through the dusk.
‘Why, what does this mean?’ he stammered.