“Would you have me take it,” the young man answered, “and not do the work, Cluff? Never fear for me.”
“Dunno you be rash, master!” the other rejoined, clutching his sleeve and detaining him. “You be sure——”
Mary heard no more. She felt Etruria’s hand pressing her arm. “We’d best lose no time,” the girl whispered. And she drew Mary onward, across the triangle and into the lane which led to the moor.
“Are we so late?” The sun had set, but it was still light. “We’d best hurry,” Etruria persisted, increasing her speed.
Mary looked at her and saw that she was troubled, but at the moment she set this down to the influence of the sermon, and her own mind went back to it. “I am glad you brought me, Etruria,” she said. “I shall always be glad that I came.”
“We’d best be getting home now,” was Etruria’s only answer, but this time Mary’s ear caught the sound of footsteps behind them, and she turned. The young clergyman was hastening after them.
“Etruria!” he cried.
For a moment Mary fancied that Etruria did not hear. The girl hurried on. But Mary saw no occasion to run away, and she halted. Then Etruria, with a gesture of despair, stopped.
“It is no use,” she said.
The young man came up with them. His head was bare, his hat was in his hand, his long plain face was aglow with the haste he had made. He had heard Etruria’s words, and “It is of every use,” he said.