"What does it all mean?" she asked. "Has—but he evidently has gone away. In consequence of something you told him, too! What? But wait!"
She rang a small hand-bell that stood on the corner of the breakfast-table; before its sharp tinkling had died away the old woman came hurrying in.
"Tibbie!" said Madrasia. "Has Mr. Parslewe gone away? When?"
"He went off at five o'clock this morning, Miss," replied Tibbie. "He just tapped of me and said he'd be away a day or two, likely, and that was all. I looked out of the window when he'd gone, and I saw him riding off on his pony."
"Which way?" demanded Madrasia.
"Across the moor, Miss," answered Tibbie. "Roddam way."
Madrasia hesitated a moment, nodded, and turning to the table began to pour out the coffee; the old woman withdrew. And as a beginning of my wardership, I turned my attention to the hot dishes.
"Fish or bacon?" I inquired.
"Hang the fish—and the bacon!" retorted
