‘They are not thick enough,’ said Anne.
‘Let us take him under the bridge,’ said Matilda. ‘I can go no further.’
Entering the opening by which cattle descended to drink, they waded into the weedy water, which here rose a few inches above their ankles. To ascend the stream, stoop under the arch, and reach the centre of the roadway, was the work of a few minutes.
‘If they look under the arch we are lost,’ murmured Anne.
‘There is no parapet to the bridge, and they may pass over without heeding.’
They waited, their heads almost in contact with the reeking arch, and their feet encircled by the stream, which was at its summer lowness now. For some minutes they could hear nothing but the babble of the water over their ankles, and round the legs of the seat on which Bob slumbered, the sounds being reflected in a musical tinkle from the hollow sides of the arch. Anne’s anxiety now was lest he should not continue sleeping till the search was over, but start up with his habitual imprudence, and scorning such means of safety, rush out into their arms.
A quarter of an hour dragged by, and then indications reached their ears that the re-examination of the mill had begun and ended. The well-known tramp drew nearer, and reverberated through the ground over their heads, where its volume signified to the listeners that the party had been largely augmented by pressed men since the night preceding. The gang passed the arch, and the noise regularly diminished, as if no man among them had thought of looking aside for a moment.
Matilda broke the silence. ‘I wonder if they have left a watch behind?’ she said doubtfully.
‘I will go and see,’ said Anne. ‘Wait till I return.’
‘No; I can do no more. When you come back I shall be gone. I ask one thing of you. If all goes well with you and him, and he marries you—don’t be alarmed; my plans lie elsewhere—when you are his wife tell him who helped to carry him away. But don’t mention my name to the rest of your family, either now or at any time.’