"The Doctor told me as 'ow you might be 'ungry," she explained. "Thank you," said Tilda. "I--I was lookin' at the view." For an instant she thought of appealing to this stranger's mercy. The woman's eyes were hard, but not unkind. They scrutinised her closely. "You take my advice, an' get out o' this quick as you can." The woman thumped down the tray, and made as if to leave the room with a step decisive as her speech. At the door, however, she hesitated. "Related to 'im?" she inquired. "Eh?" Tilda was taken aback. "'Oo's 'im?" "I 'eard you tell the Doctor you wanted to see 'im." "An' so I do. But I'm no relation of 'is--on'y a friend." "I was thinkin' so. Lawful born or come-by-chance, the child's a little gentleman, an' different from the others. Blood al'ays comes out, don't it?" "I s'pose so." Tilda, still perched on her chair, glanced out at the children in the yard. "You won't see 'im out there. He's in the shed at the end o' the kitchen garden, cleanin' the boots. If you've got anything good to tell 'im, an' 'll promise not to be five minutes, I might give you a run there while the Doctor's finishin' his dinner in his study. Fact is," added this strange woman, "the child likes to be alone, an' sometimes I lets 'im slip away there--when he's good, or the Doctor's been extra 'ard with 'im." "Beats 'im?" asked Tilda, and suddenly, still erect on her chair and looking down on the woman, felt her courage flowing back full and strong. "He's a beast, then." "You musn' talk like that," said the woman hurriedly, with a glance back at the half-open door. "Hut he's 'ard if you cross 'im--an' the child's pay bein' be'ind--'and--" "What's your name?" demanded Tilda. "Sarah 'Uggins." "Miss or Missis?" "What's that to you?" The blood surged into the woman's face, and she eyed the child suspiciously under lowered brows. Tilda slipped down from her chair. She had a sense of standing dangerously on the edge of something evil, forbidden. If only she could scream aloud and rush out--anywhere--into the open air! "I--I was only wantin' to speak polite," she stammered. "I been impident to yer. But O, Sarah 'Uggins--O, ma'am--'elp me see 'im an' get away, an' I'll bless yer name fur ever and ever! Amen." "Nip in front o' me," said the woman, "and be quick, then! First turnin' to the right down the stairs, an' don't clatter yer boots."