'Yes, Mary. When we went into that dreadful room--that dark, round place--I
saw his foot on the ladder. _His_ foot, Mary I can't be mistaken. _I won't
be questioned_. You'll _find_ I'm right. He's _here_. He never went in
that ship at all. A fraud has been practised on me--it is infamous--it
is terrible. I'm frightened out of my life. For heaven's sake, look back
again, and tell me what you see.'
'_Nothing_, Miss,' answered Mary, in contagious whispers, 'but that
wooden-legged chap, standin' hard by the door.'
'And no one with him?'
'No one, Miss.'
We got without pursuit through the gate in the paling. I drew breath so
soon as we had reached the cover of the thicket near the chestnut hollow,
and I began to reflect that whoever the owner of the foot might be--and
I was still instinctively certain that it was no other than
Dudley--concealment was plainly his object. I need not, then, be at all
uneasy lest he should pursue us.
As we walked slowly and in silence along the grassy footpath, I heard a
voice calling my name from behind. Mary Quince had not heard it at all, but
I was quite certain.
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