“But he is come,” said Tod. “He came last night. We saw him and spoke to him.”
Minty put down her camel-hair pencil then, and turned round. “What do you mean?” she asked.
“Mr. St. George drove William home from Worcester. We passed them in the gig in Dip Lane.”
Minty retorted by asking whether we were not dreaming; and for a minute or two we kept at cross-purposes. She held to it that they had seen nothing of her brother; that he was not at Timberdale.
“Mamma never had a wink of sleep last night, for thinking of the dreadful gale William must be in at sea. Your fancy misled you,” went on Minty, calmly touching-up the cottage in her painting—and Tod looked as if he would like to beat her.
But it did really seem that William had not come, and we took our departure. I don’t think I had ever seen Tod look so puzzled.
“I wish I may be shot if I can understand this!” said he.
“Could we have been mistaken in thinking it was Brook?” I was beginning; and Tod turned upon me savagely.
“I swear it was Brook. There! And you know it as well as I, Mr. Johnny. Where can he be hiding himself? What is the meaning of it?”