She couldn't speak. Her tongue wouldn't move, her lips wouldn't open; she could but waggle her head like an idiot. She saw nothing but his face. It was a desperate face. She knew so much better than all the others what the thought of losing Hamlet was to him. It was part of the harshness of her fate that she should understand him so much better than the others did. But she herself had not realised how hardly he would take it. “I didn't--I couldn't--” “There's the dog-man,” he stammered. “He'll have stolen him.” Then he was off out of the room in an instant. And that was more than Mary could hear. She realised, even as she followed him, that she was giving her whole case away, that she was now, as always, weak when she should be strong, soft when she should be hard, good when she should be wicked, wicked when she should be good. She could not help herself. With trembling limbs and a heart that seemed to be hammering her body into pieces she followed him out. She found him in the hall, tugging at his coat. “Where are you going?” she said weakly. “Going?” he answered fiercely. “Where do you think?” He glared at her. “Just like you.” He broke off, suddenly appealing to her. “Mary, CAN'T you remember? It will be getting dark soon, and if we have to wait until to-morrow the dog-man will have got him. At any rate, he had his collar--” Then Mary broke out. She burst into sobs, pushed her hand into her dress, and held out the collar to him. “There it is! There it is!” she said hysterically. “You've got it?” He stared at her, suspicion slowly coming to him. “But how--? What have you done?” She looked up at him wild-eyed, the tears making dirty lines on her face, her hand out towards him. “I took it off. I shut Hamlet into the barn at Mellot Farm. I wanted him to be lost. I didn't want you to have him. I hated him--always being with you, and me never.” Jeremy moved back, and at the sudden look in his eyes her sobbing ceased, she caught her breath and stared at him with a silly fixed stare as a rabbit quivers before a snake. Jeremy said in his ordinary voice: “You shut Hamlet up? You didn't want him to be found?” She nodded her head several times as though now she must convince him quickly of this-- “Yes, yes, yes. I did... I know I shouldn't, but I couldn't help it--” He clutched her arm, and then shook her with a sudden wave of fierce physical anger that was utterly unlike him, and, therefore, the more terrifying. “You wicked, wicked--You beast, Mary!” She could only sob, her head hanging down. He let her go. “What barn was it?” She described the place. He gave her another look of contempt and then rushed off, running across the courtyard.