to
anyone.'

For the first time Tom looked perfectly serious. He twiddled the corner of
my letter between his finger and thumb, and wore very much the countenance
of a poacher about to be committed.

'I don't want to chouce ye, Miss; but I must take care o' myself, ye see.
The letters goes all through Silas's fingers to the post, and he'd know
damn well this worn't among 'em. They do say he opens 'em, and reads 'em
before they go; an' that's his diversion. I don't know; but I do believe
that's how it be; an' if this one turned up, they'd all know it went be
hand, and I'd be spotted for't.'

'But you know who I am, Tom, and I'd save you,' said I, eagerly.

'Ye'd want savin' yerself, I'm thinkin', if that feel oot,' said Tom,
cynically. 'I don't say, though, I'll not take it--only this--I won't run
my head again a wall for no one.'

'Tom,' I said, with a sudden inspiration, 'give me back the letter,
and take me out of Bartram; take me to Elverston; it will be the best
thing--for _you_, Tom, I mean--it will indeed--that ever befell you.'

With this clown I was pleading, as for my life; my hand was on his sleeve.
I was gazing imploringly in his face.

But it would not do; Tom Brice looked amused again, swung his head a little
on one side, grinning sheepishly over his shoulder on the roots of the
trees beside him, as if he were striving to keep himself from an uncivil
fit of laughter.

'I'll do what a wise lad may, Miss; but ye don't know they lads; they
bain't that easy come over; and I won't get knocked on the head, nor sent
to gaol 'appen, for no good to thee nor me. There's Meg there, she knows
well enough I could na' manage that; so I won't try it, Miss, by no chance;
no offence, Miss; but I'd rayther not, an' I'll just try what I can make
o'this; that's all I can do for ye.'

Tom Brice, with these words, stood up, and looked uneasily in the direction
of the Windmill Wood.

'Mind ye, Miss, coom what will, ye'll not tell o' me?'

'Whar 'ill ye go now, Tom?' inquired Meg, uneasily.

'Never ye mind, lass,' answered he, breaking his way through the thicket,
and soon disappearing.

'E'es that 'ill be it--he'll git into the sheepwalk behind the mound.
They're all down yonder; git ye back, Miss, to the hoose--be the side-door;
mind ye, don't go round the corner; and I'll jest sit awhile among the
bushes, and wait a good time for a start. And good-bye, Miss; and don't ye
show like as if there was aught out o' c