I peered under the
branches, and my heart beat fast as I saw Meg Hawkes awaiting me.
CHAPTER LVII
_THE LETTER_
'Come away, lass,' whispered Beauty, very pale; 'he's here--Tom Brice.'
And she led the way, shoving aside the leafless underwood, and we reached
Tom. The slender youth, groom or poacher--he might answer for either--with
his short coat and gaitered legs, was sitting on a low horizontal bough,
with his shoulder against the trunk.
'_Don't_ ye mind; sit ye still, lad,' said Meg, observing that he was
preparing to rise, and had entangled his hat in the boughs. 'Sit ye still,
and hark to the lady. He'll take it, Miss Maud, if he can; wi' na ye, lad?'
'E'es, I'll take it,' he replied, holding out his hand.
'Tom Brice, you won't deceive me?'
'Noa, sure,' said Tom and Meg nearly in the same breath.
'You are an honest English lad, Tom--you would not betray me?' I was
speaking imploringly.
'Noa, sure,' repeated Tom.
There was something a little unsatisfactory in the countenance of this
light-haired youth, with the sharpish up-turned nose. Throughout our
interview he said next to nothing, and smiled lazily to himself, like a man
listening to a child's solemn nonsense, and leading it on, with an amused
irony, from one wise sally to another.
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