Mrs. Malling nodded her head. She was too open to remain silent long.
“Of Leslie Grey,” she said at once. “And ye needn’t to tell us nothin’ more, George. We know the yarn you are about to tell us. An’ d’ye think we’re goin’ to believe any addle-pated scalliwag such as my Hervey, agin’ you? Smuggler you may be, 332 but that you’ve sunk to killin’ human flesh not even a minister o’ the Gospel’s goin’ to convince me. Here, I respects the man I give my hand to. Shake me by the hand, George––shake me by the hand.” And the farm-wife rose from her chair and ambled across the room with her hand outstretched.
Iredale clasped it in both of his. And never in his life had he experienced such a burst of thankfulness as he did at that moment. His heart was too full to speak. Prudence smiled gravely as she watched this whole-hearted token of her mother’s loyalty to a friend. Nor was Sarah backward in her expression of goodwill.
“Hephzibah’s right, George, and she speaks for both of us. But there’s work to be done for all that. Hervey’s to be dealt with.”
“To be bribed,” said Hephzibah uncompromisingly, as she returned to her seat.
Iredale shook his head and his face set sternly. Prudence saw the look she feared creep into her lover’s eyes. She opened her lips to protest, but the words remained unspoken. She had heard the rattle of a buckboard outside. The sound died away, and she knew that the vehicle had passed round to the barn. She waited in an agony of suspense for her brother’s appearance.
“You needn’t to shake your head,” went on the farm-wife. “This matter’s my concern. It’s my dollars as is goin’ to pay Master Hervey––an’ when he gets ’em may they blister his fingers, I sez.”
Prudence heard a footstep in the hall. The crucial moment had arrived, and her heart palpitated with nervous apprehension. Before Iredale could reply the 333 door was flung open, and Hervey stood in their midst. Instantly every eye was turned upon him. He stood for a moment and looked round. There was a slight unsteadiness in his attitude. His great eyes looked wilder than ever, and they were curiously bloodshot. At least one of the three ladies possessed an observant mind. Sarah saw that the man had been drinking. To her the signs, though slight, were unmistakable. The others did not seem to notice his condition.
“Ah,” he said, with an attempt at pleasantry, “a nice little party. Well, I’ve come for the dibs.”
His eyes lit upon the figure of George Iredale, and he broke off. The next moment he went on angrily––