He lifted his hand. “I understand,” he said. “You mean they will soon be saying that it was not your uncle’s horse that hurt Covell that night. They will say that I did it, knocked him down, tried to kill him, perhaps. Well, I expected that.... Tell me: Do you believe it?” Her eyes flashed. “You know I don’t!” she cried, fiercely. “You know it. It is because I don’t that I came to find out the truth. Bob, won’t you tell me? For your own sake? And for mine?” He had been standing by the work bench, his face turned toward the window. Now he wheeled suddenly. “Does it make so much difference to you?” he asked. “Yes, it does.” “Esther--” “Bob, _are_ you going to tell me any more?” He took a turn up and down the room. Then he stopped before her. “Esther,” he said, “I will tell you what I can. This is what happened.” He told of his leaving the hall that night, of his walk along the beach, his stay at the studio, his noticing the Townsend span beside the road. There he hesitated. “Yes,” she urged. “And then--?” “Well, then when Covell came along we got to talking. He said some things I didn’t like and--and I told him I didn’t like them. He said them again. I--well, in the midst of it he jumped back against the carriage. The horses started and reared. He fell under their feet. Before I could pull him out of the way the horse had kicked him. It was an accident and nothing more. That is the exact truth. I should like to have you believe it. Do you?” She waved the question aside almost contemptuously. “I never for a moment believed anything else,” she said. “But you haven’t told me at all what I really wanted to know. What was Seymour Covell doing down here on this road so late? Tell me that?” Bob shook his head. “That I can’t tell you,” he replied. “But you know, don’t you?” “No, I don’t know.” “Nonsense! I am sure you do. Or, at least, you are convinced in your own mind. Will you tell me?” “No.” “Why not?” “Because I--well, because it is not any of my business. You must wait and ask him. Perhaps, when he is well enough, he will tell you.” “I can’t wait. If I’m to stop this dreadful talk I must know everything. He is unable to defend himself and--and his friends must do it for him.” So it was Covell she was so anxious to defend. He might have guessed it. “No,” he said, sharply. “I shall tell you nothing about him. He accused me of spying on him--told me that night that I was hanging about here to learn what he did and then carry tales to--to his friends. It was a lie, of course; but he shall never be able to say that I told those tales. No, indeed he shan’t.” She was regarding him intently. “Was that why you quarreled?” she asked. “That--and other things. Yes.” “Bob,” earnestly, “you and he weren’t--weren’t-- Tell me: Was my name mentioned between you?”