"Yes, and it was him as set the rick a-fire. And now he's murdered! Didn't I run fast! I was in mortal fear."
"Who killed him?"
Jim looked round timorously, as if thinking the walls might have ears. "I daren't say," he shivered.
"But you must say."
He shook his head. "No, I'll never tell it—unless I'm forced. He might be for killing me. When the hue and cry goes about to-morrow, and folks is asking who did it, there'll be nobody to answer. I shall keep dark, because I must. But if Ann Canham had waited and seen it, I wouldn't ha' minded saying; she'd ha' been a witness as I told the truth."
"If you don't speak plainer I'll box your ears again," was the retort. "What about Ann Canham?"
"Well, I met her at the top o' the field as I was turning into 't. That were but a few minutes afore. She'd been to work at the parson's, she said. I say, mother, you don't think they'll come after me here?" he questioned, his tone full of doubt.
"They did come after ye, to some purpose," wrathfully responded Mrs. Sanders. "My belief is you've come home with your head turned. I'd like to know where you've been hiding."
"I've been nowhere but up in the tallet at master's," replied Jim. "I crep' in there last night, dead tired, and never woke this morning. Hay do make one sleep; it's warmer than bed."
We need not follow the interview any further. At the close of the night she knew little more than she had known at its commencement beyond the assertion that Rupert Trevlyn was killed. Jim went off in the morning to his work as usual, and she resumed her labours of the day before. Nora had scarcely shown her wisdom in releasing Jim so quickly; but it may be that to keep him longer concealed in the "tallet" was next door to impossible.