Though she had never received a letter from Harry, she knew by instinct where this one had come from, and took it carelessly, conscious that the boy was staring critically at her with his prominent eyes. She turned it over as though doubtful of its origin.
“It’s from the young general,” explained Howlie.
Her disapproving face made him cover his mouth quickly with his hand as though the words had escaped from it unawares. It was an indescribably vulgar action.
“Is there any answer?” she inquired.
“Don’t knaw,” said Howlie shortly.
“But did you ask?”
“Naw; an’ oi can’t stop ’im now, no more nor if he was a lump o’ dirt rowlin’ down the hill.”
“But who was he?” she asked, with a wild thought that Harry might have brought the letter in person.
“A man with a squintin’ oye.”
She walked away from him, breaking the seal, and he returned to the kitchen, his tongue in his cheek; he was a Herefordshire boy who had only come to the place a few months before, but there was little he did not know, and he was well aware that the messenger lived one mile from Waterchurch Court.