"Did you think I'd let you swing for it?" said the girl with flashing eyes. "I should probably not have swung for it, as you express it. You could have proved that the assault was unprovoked, and that I did what I did in self-defence. I wish you had not concealed the truth at the time." "Sir, is that all the thanks you give me? You do not know what this has been to me. Aunt Fanny and I----" "Does your aunt, Mrs. Armitage, know the truth?" "I had to tell Aunt Fanny or I'd have gone mad, sir. She and me, we swore on the Bible that we would never tell mortal man or woman what I saw done. You're as safe with Aunt Fanny and me, Mr. Robert, as if no one in all the world knew. You were one of the Family--that was enough for aunt--and you was to me----" she paused, colored, and looked down. Then she continued abruptly, "Mr. Everett was nothing, nothing to me, nothing to aunt. He was a stranger, not one of our own people. Aunt Fanny kept me up to it, and I didn't make one single mistake in court, and not a soul in all the world guesses." "One person suspects," said Awdrey. "You mean Mrs. Everett, sir. Yes, Mrs. Everett is a dreadful woman. She frightens me. She seems to read right through my heart." The Squire did not reply. He began to pace up and down in the part of the room which was lying in shadow. Hetty watched him with eyes which seemed to devour him--his upright figure was slightly bent, his bowed head had lost its look of youth and alertness. He found that conscience could be troublesome to the point of agony. If it spoke like this often and for long could he endure the frightful strain? There was a way in which he could silence it. There was a path of thorns which his feet might tread. Could they take it? That path would lead to the complete martyrdom, the absolute ruin of his own life. But life, after all, was short, and there was a beyond. Margaret--what would Margaret feel? How would she bear the awful shock? He knew then, a flash of thought convinced him, that he must never tell Margaret the truth if he wished to keep this ghastly thing to himself, for Margaret would rather go through the martyrdom which it all meant, and set his conscience and her own free. Awdrey looked again at Hetty. She was ghastly pale, her eyes were almost wild with fear--she seemed to be reading some of his thoughts. All of a sudden her outward calm gave way, she left her seat and fell on her knees--her voice rose in sobs. "I know what you're thinking of," she cried. "You think you'll tell--you think you'll save him and save her, but for God's sake----" "Do not say that," interrupted Awdrey. "Then for the devil's sake--for any sake, for my sake, for your own, for Mrs. Awdrey's, don't do it, Squire, don't do it." "Don't do----" began Awdrey. "What did you think I was going to do?"