Lesley looked up with terrified, wide-open eyes. "Do you mean that I shall have to say——"
"You will have to go into the witness-box and tell what you know, or rather answer the questions that are asked you."
"But will that be—best—for you?" She put the question with some difficulty.
"That is not the point. What we have to do is to tell the truth, and leave the result to others."
"—To God?" Lesley interposed, almost involuntarily. Caspar Brooke's lip moved with a grave smile.
"Well, yes, to God if you will have it so—we use different terms, but perhaps we have the same meaning. We must at any rate leave the result to the working of various laws which we cannot control, and to fight against these laws of nature is wrong-doing—or sin. Therefore, Lesley, you will have to tell the truth, whether it may seem to be for my good or my harm."
She glanced at him rather piteously, and her eyes filled with tears. Aunt Sophy's words recurred to her mind; but they seemed feeble and futile in the light of his courage and steadfastness. Aunt Sophy had been wrong—so much was clear to Lesley; and truth was best under all possible circumstances.
"It is for Ethel I am sorry," she murmured.
"Yes, poor Ethel. It is true then—what that woman said—that Oliver Trent was in love with you?"
"I could not help it, father. I don't think it was my fault. I did not know till it was too late."