I won't let them. It'll be all right, darling.
I'll take you away with me to-morrow, and look after you, and keep you
safe."
"But--they'll have to know."
"Yes. They'll have to know. I'll tell them."
She rose.
"Stay here," she said. "And keep quiet. I'm going to tell them now."
"Not now--please, not now."
"Yes. Now. It'll be all over. And you'll sleep."
* * * * *
She went in to where they waited for her.
Her father and her sister lifted their eyes to her as she came in.
Rowcliffe had turned away.
"Has she said anything?"
(Mary spoke.)
"Yes."
The Vicar looked sternly at his second daughter.
"She denies it?"
"No, Papa. She doesn't deny it."
He drove it home. "Has--she--confessed?"
"She's told me it's true--what you think."
In the silence that fell on the four Rowcliffe stayed where he stood,
downcast and averted. It was as if he felt that Gwenda could have
charged him with betrayal of a trust.
The Vicar looked at his watch. He turned to Rowcliffe.
"Is that fellow coming, or is he not?"
"He won't funk it," said Rowcliffe.
He turned. His eyes met Gwenda's. "I think I can answer for his
coming."
"Do you mean Jim Greatorex?" she said.
"Yes."
"What is it that he won't funk?"
She looked from one to the other. Nobody answered her. It was as if
they were, all three, afraid of her.
"I see," she said. "If you ask me I think he'd much better not come.
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