The wonder seemed to be, where was Jim? He had not reappeared on the scene, and his absence certainly looked suspicious. In moments of intense fear, the mind receives the barest hint vividly and comprehensively, and Mrs. Chattaway's heart bounded within her at that whispered suggestion. _If Jim Sanders did not appear Rupert must be held innocent._ Was there no possibility of keeping Jim back? By persuasion--by stratagem--by force, even, if necessary? The blood mounted to her pale cheek at the thought, red as the lurid flame which lighted up the air. At that moment she saw George Ryle hastening across the yard near to her and glided towards him. He turned at her call. "You see! They have taken Rupert!" "Do not distress yourself, dear Mrs. Chattaway," he answered. "I wish you could have been persuaded not to remain in this scene: it is altogether unfit for you." "George," she gasped, "do _you_ believe he did it?" George Ryle did believe it. He had heard about the horsewhipping; and aware of that mad passion called the Trevlyn temper, he could not do otherwise than believe it. "Ah, don't speak!" she interrupted, perceiving his hesitation. "I see you condemn him, as some around us are condemning him. But," she added, with feverish eagerness, "there is only the word of Jim Sanders against him. They are saying so." "Very true," replied George, heartily desiring to give her all the comfort he could. "Mr. Jim must make good his words before we can condemn Rupert." "Jim Sanders has always been looked upon as truthful," interposed Octave Chattaway, who had drawn near. Surely it was ill-natured to say so at that moment, however indisputable the fact might be! "It has yet to be proved that Jim made the accusation," said George, replying to Octave. "Although Bridget asserts it, it is not obliged to be fact. And even if Jim did say it, he may have been mistaken. He must show that he was not mistaken before the magistrates to-morrow, or the charge will fall to the ground." "And Rupert be released?" added Mrs. Chattaway eagerly. "Certainly. At least, I suppose so." He passed on his way; Octave went back to where she had been standing, and Mrs. Chattaway remained alone, buried in thought. A few minutes, and she glided out of the yard. With stealthy steps, and eyes that glanced fearfully around her, she escaped by degrees beyond the crowd, and reached the open field. Then, turning an angle at a fleet pace, she ran against some one who was coming as swiftly up. A low cry escaped her. It seemed to her that the mere fact of being encountered like this, was sufficient to betray the wild project she had conceived. Conscience is very suggestive.