You know you don't mean it," said Rowcliffe,
utterly gentle.
"I do mean it! She sneaked you from behind Gwenda's back and lied to
you to make you think she didn't care for you----"
"Be quiet, you shameful girl!"
"Be quiet yourself, Papa. I'm not as shameful as Molly is. I'm not as
shameful as you are yourself. You killed Mother."
"Oh--my--God----" The words were almost inaudible in the Vicar's
shuddering groan.
He advanced on her to turn her from the room. Ally sank on her sofa as
she saw him come.
Rowcliffe stepped between them.
"For God's sake, sir----"
Ally was struggling in hysterics now, choking between her piteous and
savage cries.
Rowcliffe laid her on the sofa and put a cushion under her head. When
he tried to loosen her gown at her throat she screamed.
"It's all right, Ally, it's all right."
"_Is_ it? _Is_ it?" The Vicar hissed at him.
"It won't be unless you leave her to me. If you go on bullying her
much longer I won't answer for the consequences. You surely don't
want----"
"It's all right, Ally. Lie quiet, there--like that. That's a good
girl. Nobody's going to worry you any more."
He was kneeling by the sofa, pressing his hand to her forehead. Ally
still sobbed convulsively, but she lay quiet. She closed her eyes
under Rowcliffe's soothing hand.
"You might go and see if you can find some salvolatile, Mary," he
said.
Mary went.
The Vicar, who had turned his back on this scene, went, also, into his
study.
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