For an instant the suspicion that Charles’s hateful insinuations were true came to him like a cold blast. The girl hesitated, and then, with a glance at the occupants of the gig, approached him first, holding out her hand for the toll money. He leaned down towards her.
“What be you doing here, Catherine? How be you come here?”
She shrank back. There was suppressed vehemence in his tone.
“Don’t be afeared o’ me,” he exclaimed, “I won’t hurt ye, my girl.”
“I live wi’ Mrs. Cockshow,” she faltered. “She’s at the market.”
“Come on, come on, ye slut!” screamed Saunders’s uncle. “Am I to wait here all day for you to be sweetheartin’ wi’ every vagabond feller on the road?”
Heber had dismounted, and as Catherine, bewildered, was about to obey the cattle-breeder, he held her back. He took no notice of the outburst, but he led her up to the side of the gig on which Charles sat.
“Tell me the truth, Catherine,” he said, “be you livin’ wi’ this man or be you not?”
“Livin’ with him—with him?” she exclaimed.