The blood rushed to Thalassa’s head as he listened to these words. He understood quite suddenly—this was not a demented raving. Sisily had been there—she had come back to him in her fear—and she had been driven away. He turned to his wife and caught her up in his great arms, shaking her violently, as one shakes a child. The sight was terrible and absurd, but there was no one to witness it but the dog, who circled round and round in yelping excitement, as though the scene was enacted for his benefit alone.
“Has Miss Sisily been here?”
The question thundered out in the empty silence. Mrs. Thalassa crouched like a preposterous hunched-up doll on the seat where her husband had flung her, looking up at him with stupid eyes, but not speaking. He approached her again.
“Speak, woman, speak, or I’ll strangle you.”
She backed away, whimpering with fear. “No, no, Jasper, leave me alone.”
“Has Miss Sisily been here?”
The sight of those long outstretched hands, by their menace to her life, seemed to restore her reason. “Yes,” she mumbled.
“When?”
“This evening—before dark—when you were out.”
“And you wouldn’t let her in?”