Children of clergy -- Fiction; Man-woman relationships -- Fiction; Mountaineering -- Fiction; Mystery fiction
MR. STIRLING had placed himself in the farmer's high-backed chair; and
Mrs. Morris occupied one of cane, exactly opposite. Their positions
seemed to be opposed, as well mentally as bodily. A displeased dent
still marked the Squire's forehead; and his gaze was bent moodily
downward. Mrs. Morris, looking not at him but at the wall, with hands
resolutely folded, heard what he had to say. An odour of stale tobacco
filled the air; for this was the farmer's "den."
"You see what I mean?"
"Yes—I see," she replied.
"For my niece's sake, I will allow no risks to be run." She knew that
he might have added, "And for my own sake!"—and her lip curled.
"Remember!—I am quite decided about this. If, through any
carelessness, you allow suspicions to be awakened, you know the
consequences."
"Yes," she stolidly repeated.
"I have been a good friend to Raye." He spoke in unconscious echo
of Winnie's words.
"Yes, you have," she admitted. "But—"
"You must be content with that. I will go on being a good friend
to him, so long as our agreement is strictly kept to. Once break it—
and you know the consequences."
He was gazing at her, and her expressionless eyes met his.
"Yes, I know," she assented in a dull tone.
"Your income stops, and I have no more to do with Raye. You understand
what that means—for the future."
"Yes, I know," she repeated.
"One item in our agreement was—that Raye should never come to this
neighbourhood, without my express permission."
"You mean—he's never to see me?"
"I mean what I say. He is not to come here. If you wish to see him,
you go elsewhere."
"Not even—once in the year! I've always had that."
"Not even once in the year. It is your own doing. If you had stayed
in Norfolk, as I desired, you could have had him as before. Now you
cannot."
"It's a bit hard on Raye—if he mayn't ever come to his own home."
"That is your affair. You have chosen."
Her face took an obstinate set.
"I couldn't help coming. I'm wanted here. I just felt I had to come."
"Under the circumstances, you ought to have felt that you had to stay
away, considering—though I would rather not say this—all that I have
done for you and yours. Remember—but for me you were penniless.
Remember, too, that I was not bound. You had from the first no real
claim upon me."
"I don't know as I see that," she muttered.
"Whether you see it or not, it is true."
"Anyway, when I promised I'd do as you wanted, I did say I might some
day have to come here and look after my uncle. I don't forget that
you've done a lot for us. But all the same, I had to come."
"Then you have to accept the consequences. When you wish to see Raye,
it must be elsewhere. That is decided. I need not again remind you
how much in Raye's future may hang upon this. One more point. You must
keep Jane in order."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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