"What is the woman's name, Bacchus?" asked Mr. Weston in a low tone.
"I axed her dis mornin, sir. Its Sarah—Sarah Mills."
Mr. Weston walked up nearer to her, and was regarding her, when she suddenly looked up into his face. Finding herself observed, she made an effort to look unconcerned, but it did not succeed, for she burst into tears.
"I'm sorry to see you here, Sarah," said Mr. Weston, "you look too respectable to be in such a situation." Sarah smoothed down her apron, but did not reply. "What induced you to run away? You need not be afraid to answer me truthfully. I will not do you any harm."
"My blessed grief!" said Bacchus. "No, master couldn't do no harm to a flea."
"Hush, Bacchus," said Mr. Weston.
There was something in Mr. Weston's appearance that could not be mistaken. The woman gave him a look of perfect confidence, and said—
"I thought I could better myself, sir."
"In what respect? Had you an unkind master?" said Mr. Weston.