CHAPTER LVI
I CONSPIRE
‘That’s a bad un, he is—oh, Miss, Miss Maud! It’s nout that’s good as keeps him an’ fayther—(mind, lass, ye promised you would not tell no one)—as keeps them two a-talkin’ and a-smokin’ secret-like together in the mill. An’ fayther don’t know I found him out. They don’t let me into the town, but Brice tells me, and he knows it’s Dudley; and it’s nout that’s good, but summat very bad. An’ I reckon, Miss, it’s all about you. Be ye frightened, Miss Maud?’
I felt on the point of fainting, but I rallied.
‘Not much, Meg. Go on, for Heaven’s sake. Does Uncle Silas know he is here?’
‘Well, Miss, they were with him, Brice told me, from eleven o’clock to nigh one o’ Tuesday night, an’ went in and come out like thieves, ‘feard ye’d see ‘em.’
‘And how does Brice know anyth
