"And of course it was Mr. Roscorla who spoiled it. Nobody
knew anything about it but himself. He must have run on to the inn and
told some one. Wasn't it mean, Wenna? Couldn't he see that he wasn't
wanted?"
"Are you talking of Mr. Roscorla?" Trelyon said: George Rosewarne was
a bit ahead at this moment. "I wish to goodness I had gagged him and
slung him below the phaeton. I knew he would be coming down there: I
expected him every moment. Why were you so late, Mabyn?"
"Oh, you needn't blame me, Mr. Trelyon," said Mabyn, rather hurt. "You
know I did everything I could for you."
"I know you did, Mabyn: I wish it had turned out better."
What was this, then, that Wenna heard as she sat there bewildered,
apprehensive and sad-hearted? Had her own sister joined in this league
to carry her off? It was not merely the audacity of young Trelyon that
had led to their meeting. But she was altogether too frightened and
wretched to be angry.
As they got down into Eglosilyan and turned the sharp corner over the
bridge they did not notice the figure of a man who had been concealing
himself in the darkness of a shed belonging to a slate-yard.
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