Kitty’s heart all but failed her. She cleared her throat, wet her lips, and managed to utter the words— “I’m going to London.” For a moment the man was stupefied. Then his shout went down the passage leading to shop and post office— “Rachel!—here, quick!” In desperation Kitty sought to push past. He seized her arm. He was breathing hard; his face was the colour of putty. Miss Corrie appeared. “What is it? Oh!” she exclaimed, perceiving the luggage. “She’s mad,” said her brother thickly, “says she going to London. Liker to jail!” “How can she go to London or any place?” cried the woman, “unless—did ye check the cash, John?” “Aunt Rachel!” exclaimed the girl. “Take her luggage up the stair, Rachel,” Corrie ordered. “We’ll ha’ to do something—” The door was opened from the outside. Sam stood on the step. Beyond him, at the gate of the little garden, was a pony cart he had borrowed or hired. “Are ye ready, Miss?” said Sam, cheerfully. Corrie strode to the door, his face working with passion. “What the — do ye mean?” he demanded threateningly. “Miss Carstairs,” said Sam, without flinching, “is for London, and it’s my pleasure to drive her to the junction.” “He’s mad, too,” screamed Miss Corrie. “Shut the door in his face.” Swiftly Sam stepped inside, and closed the door, “Mr. Corrie,” he said quietly, “I would advise ye no’ to interfere.” To Kitty—“I’ll take your luggage, Miss.” Corrie, beside himself, raised his fist. “Wait,” said the other, still calmly. “The folk in Dunford are maybe dull, but I could tell them a thing, Mr. Corrie, that would make them spit on ye in the street, and maybe pull your house and shop about your ears. . . . Come, Miss.” “Move a step, and I send for the policeman,” roared Corrie. “In which case,” retorted the postman, “I’ll just ha’ to give ye in charge. For what, I ask ye, was ye doin’ up the ladder yesterday, about 12.30 p.m.?” “By God, postman. I’ll—” “I’m askin’ ye a straight question. I was comin’ down the hill at the time, but I’ve guid sight still, and what’s more I had a witness. Ye can say ye was paying attention to yer ivy—an’ truth it needs it!—but in that case, I would ask ye if the ivy was growing inside o’ this young lady’s bedroom. . . . Come, Miss. He’ll no’ touch ye.” And opening the door, and then gently pushing Corrie out of the way, he took possession of the bag and hold-all. And he and the girl passed out without hindrance. When they had gone the woman turned a ghastly face on her brother. “John, ye mun tell me what he meant about the ladder.” As if he had not heard, Corrie staggered out of the house and took the road to White Farm.