"Then what's to become of Ned?" she cried. "Oh, I had hoped that we had found a way out at last."
He raised himself on his elbow on the camp-bed they had fitted up for him.
"Be easy now," he bade her impatiently. "They can't do anything to Ned until they find him guilty; and how are they going to find him guilty when he's innocent?"
"Yes; but the appearances!"
"Fiddlesticks!" he answered her - and the expression chosen was a mere concession to her ***, and not at all what Mr. Butler intended.
"Appearances can't establish guilt. Do be sensible, and remember that they will have to prove that he killed Samoval. And you can't prove a thing to be what it isn't. You can't!"
"Are you sure?"
"Certain sure," he replied with emphasis.
"Do you know that I shall have to give evidence before the court?" she announced resentfully.
It was an announcement that gave him pause. Thoughtfully he stroked his abominable tuft of red beard. Then he dismissed the matter with a shrug and a smile.
"Well, and what of it?" he cried. "They are not likely to bully you or cross-examine you. Just tell them what you saw from the balcony. Indeed you can't very well say anything else, or they will see that you are lying, and then heaven alone knows what may happen to you, as well as to me."
She got up in a pet. "You're callous, **** - callous!" she told him. "Oh, I wish you had never come to me for shelter."
He looked at her and sneered. "That's a matter you can soon mend," he told her. "Call up Terence and the others and have me shot. I promise I shall make no resistance. You see, I'm not able to resist even if I would."
"Oh, how can you think it?" She was indignant.
"Well, what is a poor devil to think? You blow hot and cold all in a breath. I'm sick and ill and feverish," he continued with self-pity, "and now even you find me a trouble. I wish to God they'd shoot me and make an end. I'm sure it would be best for everybody."
And now she was on her knees beside him, soothing him; protesting that he had misunderstood her; that she had meant - oh, she didn't know what she had meant, she was so distressed on his account.
"And there's never the need to be," he assured her. "Surely you can be guided by me if you want to help me. As soon as ever my leg gets well again I'll be after fending for myself, and trouble you no further. But if you want to shelter me until then, do it thoroughly, and don't give way to fear at every shadow without substance that falls across your path."
She promised it, and on that promise left him; and, believing him, she bore herself more cheerfully for the remainder of the day. But that evening after they had dined her fears and anxieties drove her at last to seek her natural and legal protector.
Sir Terence had sauntered off towards the house, gloomy and silent as he had been throughout the meal. She ran after him now, and came tripping lightly at his side up the steps. She put her arm through his.
"Terence dear, you are not going back to work again?" she pleaded.
He stopped, and from his fine height looked down upon her with a curious smile. Slowly he disengaged his arm from the clasp of her own. "I am afraid I must," he answered coldly. "I have a great deal to do, and I am short of a secretary. When this inquiry is over I shall have more time to myself, perhaps." There was something so repellent in his voice, in his manner of uttering those last words, that she stood rebuffed and watched him vanish into the building.
Then she stamped her foot and her pretty mouth trembled.
"Oaf!" she said aloud.
