If it hadn't been for my rhoomatics, which I got in the war, I'd 'a followed her.

As it was, I couldn't." "So you didn't see her face, after all ?" asked Barrant quickly.
"I didn't, in a manner of speakin'.

But I did get a glimpse of her as she passed near the lamp-post--just a half-sight of two big dark eyes in a white face as she went past.

I wouldn't 'a thought no more of it," added Mr.Portgartha, laying an impressive hand on his companion's knee, "but for what happened at Flint House last night." "What's that got to do with it ?" In his quickened interest Barrant vainly strove to make his voice appear calm.
"Because the young womon must have coome from Flint House." Barrant scrutinized his companion sharply in the dim light.

"Why do you think so ?" he asked.
"For'n thing, the wayside crass where she picked up the wagonette is not far from Flint House by acrass the moors--closer'n goin' from the house on the cliffs t' the churchtown, which is a good slant to the north of it.
From Flint House to the crass-roads it's straight as a dart, if you know yer way, with only one house twixt it till you come arver to it--old Farmer Bardsley, who ain't got no wemmenfolk, so it's sartin she didn't come from theer.