“Why strange?” asked Sabrina.
“On account o’ who him wor, my lady.”
“Who?”
“Captain Trevor, the one’s used to come to Hollymead fores the war.”
She had no need to particularise which. The sisters knew, and exchanged glances; that of the elder showing a peculiar intelligence.
“Odd o’ he bein’ civil to me,” pursued the woman. “Him must ’a knowed we well enough, an’ had remembrance o’ what happened on the Cat’s Hill two years ago. I tolt you about it, my ladies.”
“You did,” said Sabrina. “And it does seem a little strange of Captain Trevor not being, spiteful if he recognised you, as he must have done. But,” she added, becoming impatient, “no matter for that now. Time is pressing, and we want you to do us a service, Win. You will?”
“Why needs thee ask if us will?”
“Because there’s some danger in it.”
“That be no reason; and don’t speak o’ the danger. Please to say what’s weeshed done, Mistress Sabrina; an’ ’t shall be did if in the power o’ we to do’t.”