_Pat, pat, pat!_
It was the muffled sound of footsteps on the dusty road. He looked
up. A dark figure, the figure of a woman, was approaching. Its air
of timorous alertness, and its tendency to seek the shadow of the
hedge-row, gave him some confidence. He arose, and stepped forward
into the broad moonlight.
The woman gave a short gasp and came to a halt, shrinking back
against the hedge. Something in her outline struck sharply on Sam's
sense, though with a flash of doubt and wonder. She carried a small
handbag, and wore a thick veil over her face.
"Who are you?" he asked gently. "Don't be afraid."
The woman made no answer--only cowered more closely against the
hedge; and he heard her breath coming hard and fast. Once more--and
for the third time that night--Sam pulled the slide of his lantern.
"_Mother!_"
"Oh! Sam, Sam, don't betray me! I'll go back--indeed I'll go back!"
"In Heaven's name, mother, what are you doing here?"
The retort was obvious, but Mrs. Buzza merely cried--
"Dear Sam, have pity on me, and take me back! I'll go quietly--quite
quietly."
The idea of his mother (who weighed eighteen stone if an ounce)
resisting with kicks and struggles might have caused Sam some
amusement, but his brain was overcrowded already.
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