consorting was out of the question, that he
became at once convinced that the murderers were far away, and that
she knew that such was the case. As far as he could learn from her,
Sam had really been over to Pycroft with the view of seeing his
sister, taking probably a holiday of a day or two on the way. Then he
again reverted to herself, having as he thought obtained a favourable
answer to that vital question which he had asked her.

"Have you nothing to ask of your mother?" he said.

"Sam has told me of her and of Fan."

"And would you not care to see her?"

"Care, Mr. Fenwick! Wouldn't I give my eyes to see her? But how can
I see her? And what could she say to me? Father 'd kill her if she
spoke to me. Sometimes I think I'll walk there all the day, and so
get there at night, and just look about the old place, only I know
I'd drown myself in the mill-stream. I wish I had. I wish it was
done. I've seed an old poem in which they thought much of a poor girl
after she was drowned, though nobody wouldn't think nothing at all
about her before."

"Don't drown yourself, Carry, and I'll care for you. Keep your
hands clean. You know what I mean, and I will not rest till I find
some spot for your weary feet. Will you promise me?" She made him
no answer. "I will not ask you for a spoken promise, but make it
yourself, Carry, and ask God to help you to keep it. Do you say your
prayers, Carry?"

"Never a prayer, sir."

"But you don't forget them. You can begin again. And now I must ask
for a promise. If I send for you will you come?"

"What--to Bull'ompton?"

"Wheresoever I may send for you? Do you think that I would have you
harmed?"

"Perhaps it'd be--for a prison; or to live along with a lot of
others. Oh, Mr. Fenwick, I could not stand that."

He did not dare to proceed any further lest he should be tempted to
make promises which he himself could not perform; but she did give
him an assurance before he went that if she left her present abode
within a month, she would let him know whither she was going.

He went to the Bald-faced Stag and got his gig; and on his way home,
just as he was leaving the village of Lavington, he overtook Sam
Brattle. He stopped and spoke to the lad, asking him whether he was
returning home, and offering him a seat in the gig. Sam declined the
seat, but said that he was going straight to the mill.

"It is very hard to make crooked things straight," said Mr. Fenwick
to himself as he dro