"No, none!--or at least not seriously--there was nothing, really, to go on"--she assured him eagerly. "But just after--you remember Mr. Lathrop's coming--that day--?--when you scolded me?" He could not help smiling a little--rather bitterly. "I remember you said you couldn't explain. Of course I thought it was something connected with Miss Marvell, or your Society--but--" "I'm going to explain"--she said, trying hard for composure. "I'm going to tell it all in order." And sitting down, her head resting on her hand, with Winnington standing before her, she told the whole story of the preceding weeks--the alternations of fear and relief--Lathrop's suspicions--Gertrude's denials--the last interview between them. As for the man looking down upon her beautiful bowed head, his heart melted within him as he listened. The sting remained that she should have asked anyone else than he to help her--above all that she should have humbled herself to ask it of such a man as Lathrop. Anxiety remained, for Monk Lawrence itself, and still more for what might be said of her complicity. But all that was further implied in her confession, her drooping sweetness, her passionate appeal to him--the beauty of her true character, its innocence, its faith, its loyalty--began to flood him with a feeling that presently burst its bounds. She wound up with most touching entreaties to him, to save and shield her friend--to go himself to Gertrude and warn her--to go to the police--without disclosing names, of course--and insist that the house should be constantly patrolled. He scarcely heard a word of this. When she paused--there was silence a moment. Then she heard her name--very low-- "Delia!" She looked up, and with a long breath she rose, as though drawn invisibly. He held out his arms, and she threw hers round his neck, hiding her face against the life that beat for her. "Oh, forgive me!"--she murmured, after a little, childishly pressing her lips to his--"forgive me--for everything!" The tears were in his eyes. "You've gone through all this!--alone!" he said to her, as he bent over her. "But never again, Delia--never again!" She was the first to release herself--putting tears away. "Now then--what can we do?" He resumed at once his ordinary manner and voice. "We can do a great deal. I have the car here. I shall go straight back to Monk Lawrence, and see Daunt to-night. That woman's behaviour must be reported--and explained. An hour--an hour and a half?--since you were there?"--he took out his watch--"He's probably home by now--it's quite dark--he'd scarcely risk being away after dark. Dearest, go and rest!--I shall come back later--after dinner. Put it out of your mind." She went towards the hall with him hand in hand. Suddenly there was a confused sound of shouting outside. Lady Tonbridge opened the drawing-room door with a scared face-- "What is it? There are people running up the drive. They're shouting something!"