"Into custody?" echoed Mrs. Sanders, in a scared whisper.
"Yes; and Jim must be hidden away for the next four and twenty hours, or they'll take him. Where's he to be found?"
"I couldn't tell you if you killed me for't," protested Mrs. Sanders; and her tones were earnestly truthful. "Maybe he is in hiding—has gone and put himself into 't in his fear of Chattaway and the police. Though I'll take my oath he never did it wilful. If he had a torch, why, a spark of it might have caught a loose bit of hay and fired it: but he never did it wilful. It ain't a windy night, either," she added reflectively. "Eh! the fool that there Jim has been ever since he was born!"
Nora paused. In the uncertainty as to where to look for Jim, she did not see her way very clearly to accomplishing the object in view, and took a few moments' rapid counsel with herself.
"Listen, Mrs. Sanders, and pay attention to what I say," she cried impressively. "I can't do for Jim what I wanted to do, because he is not to be found. But now mind: should he come in after I am gone, send him off instantly to the farm. Tell him to dodge under the trees and hedges on his way, and take care that no one catches sight of him. When he gets to the farm, he must come to the front-door, and knock gently with his knuckles: I shall be in the room."
"And then?" questioned Mrs. Sanders, looking puzzled.
"I'll take care what then; I'll take care of him. Now, do you understand?"
"Yes, yes," said the woman. "I'll be sure to do it, Miss Dickson."
"Mind you do," said Nora. "And now, good-night to you."
Mrs. Sanders was officiously coming to the door with the candle, to light her visitor; but Nora peremptorily sent her back, giving her at the same time a piece of advice in rather sharp tones—to keep her cottage dark and silent that night, lest the attention of passers-by might be drawn to it.