Sarah very willingly went 'forward,' as they say in Yorkshire, and gave a sigh of relief as she threw off the shawl which covered her head, and sank into a chair. 'What is the matter, Mary? What has my father done now?' she demanded.
'You don't know? Oh deary me!' cried the maid, with lifted hands and much shaking of the head.
'No; tell me quick,' said Sarah abruptly.
Mary looked fearfully round, as if the information was dangerous to give. 'He's got in a lot of furriners—blacklegs—to run the mills,' she said in a hoarse whisper.
Sarah looked at her in horror, mingled with incredulity. 'Foreigners! How could he? And how could they do the work? Besides, where did he get them from, and when did they come? It's impossible!' she cried.
'It's true for all that,' said Mary, nodding her head.
'I must see Uncle Howroyd,' said Sarah. 'Go and tell him I'm here, Mary.'
'I told you not to leave the house,' was her uncle's remark when he came in, looking graver and sadder than Sarah had ever seen him.
'Yes, I know; but I simply had to come, and no one recognised me. See, I was a mill-lass,' said Sarah, throwing her shawl over her head to show her uncle.
She looked so pretty and coaxing—for Sarah could be charming to those she loved—that her uncle smiled, and said with a sigh, 'Well, you're safe enough now you're here, and I've half a mind to send for your mother and George. Anyway, I must telephone to tell them you are here.'