“Here! let me go—I must be off!” he exclaimed, turning from her. “There’s a horse coming out for me to see.”
The friend who had hailed him shouted again.
“There’s a man just come who’ll fetch him out for you,” he called, his hands trumpet-wise about his mouth; “you go up the road, Charlie, and he’ll bring him along!”
Saunders looked round for Susannah, but she was no longer beside him and was already pushing her way on the pavement towards the western entrance to the town. He followed, more slowly, and found her waiting where the houses ended. She was panting a little. She fell into step with him, and together they made for the place where old Moorhouse had sat earlier in the day.
“Here’s my news,” said Susannah. “I know where Catherine Dennis is.”
“I don’t care a damn where she is, not I!” burst out Charles. “She’s with Heber Moorhouse that’s been sneakin’ after her these months past! That’s no news to me.”
His companion paid no heed to the string of adjectives with which he prefixed the shepherd’s name.
“That she’s not,” replied she, with finality.
“Don’t tell me lies!” cried Saunders, hurrying on as though to get rid of her, “what’s the use of that? I don’t want to know what’s come of her; another man’s leavings are no good to the likes of me! Heber’s got her now, and he can keep her, an’ welcome too.”
“He’s not got her, I tell you! And he won’t neither, if you’re any kind of a man.”