Before Mary could reply, Dorothy spoke up.
"I will go," she said quietly, taking her elbows from the table, and with an expression in her eyes such as Mary never saw there before.
"Oh, do, mistress!" the landlady exclaimed eagerly, looking at the girl with admiration. "Pray do, an' God will bless ye for it."
But Mary protested, although weakly, and feeling that she had but little hope of success.
"No, Dot,—no," she said. "You must not,—it would never do. And then it might not be the same one, after all."
But her own belief contradicted her words, and sounded in her voice even as she uttered them. She was certain it was he who had appeared to be watching them when they came from Aunt Penine; and he had doubtless followed them to the tavern.
Dorothy made no reply until she drained a glass of milk the landlady filled for her; then she arose from the table.
"I am going," she said, as calmly as before. "Please," seeing that Mary was about to renew her objections, "say no more about it. I am going—and I prefer to go alone."
But Mary could not restrain herself.
"Oh Dot," she asked tremulously, "do you dare do such a thing?"