Page 142 - A Little Bush Maid

anyone’s sure of."

"Blake seemed to think he’d really come this way;" Norah said.

"Blake’s an iggerant man," said Mrs. Brown loftily.

"Well, T’ll keep a look-out for him, at any rate," laughed Norah. "He ought

to be easy enough to find--tall and good-looking and well set up--whatever
that may mean--and long white beard and hair. He must be a pretty

striking-looking sort of old man. T-- " And then recollection swept over
Norah like a flood, and her words faltered on her lips.

Her hand gripped the reins tighter, and she drove on unconsciously. Blake’s
words were beating in her ears. "Not a bad-looking old chap--very tall and

well set up--piercing blue eyes and a pretty uppish way of talking." The
description had meant nothing to her until someone whom it fitted all too
aptly had drifted across her mental vision.

The Hermit! Even while she felt and told herself that it could not be, the

fatal accuracy of the likeness made her shudder. Tt was perfect--the tall,
white-haired old man--"not the sort of old man you’d forget"--with his
distinguished look; the piercing blue eyes--but Norah knew what kindliness

lay in their depths--the gentle refined voice, so different from most of the
rough country voices. Tt would answer to Blake’s "pretty uppish way of

talking." Anyone who had read the description would, on meeting the
Hermit, immediately identify him as the man for whom the police were
searching. Norah’s common sense told her that.

A wave of horror swept over the little girl, and the hands gripping the reins

trembled. Common sense might tell one tale, but every instinct of her heart
told a very different one. That gentle-faced old man, with a world of
kindness in his tired eyes--he the man who killed his sleeping mate for a

handful of gold! Norah set her square little chin. She would not--could
not--believe it.