You mightn't think it of me, but
I am not quite a heathen, and do reflect a little at times. You
may be as wicked as myself, or as good as Joseph, for anything I
know or care, for, as I say, it ain't my business to judge you.
Tell me now what you are up to, and I will make it the better for
you."
Mary had been trying hard to get at what he was "up to," but
found herself quite bewildered.
"I am sorry, sir," she faltered, "but I haven't the slightest
idea what you mean."
"Then you go home," he said. "I will send for you when I want
you."
The moment she was out of the room, he rang his bell violently.
Mewks appeared.
"Go after that young woman--do you hear? You know her--Miss--damn
it, what's her name?--Harland or Cranston, or--oh, hang it! you
know well enough, you rascal!"
"Do you mean Miss Marston, sir?"
"Of course I do! Why didn't you say so before? Go after her, I
tell you; and make haste. If she goes straight home--you know
where--come back as soon as she's inside the door."
"Yes, sir."
"Damn you, go, or you'll lose sight of her!"
"I'm a-listenin' after the street-door, sir. It ain't gone yet.
There it is now!"
And with the word he left the room.
Mary was too much absorbed in her own thoughts to note that she
was followed by a man with the collar of his great-coat up to his
eyes, and a woolen comforter round his face.
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