“We thought we had escaped him—perhaps that he was dead. There was a long respite; then one night—four, five days ago—he was there. Some place where they gamble with cards—and he accused my husband of cheating. There was a terrible scene. Jason came home all smeared with blood, but it was the old terror that made us despair. Why are such things allowed on earth? It seemed all leaf and flowers and sky to me once. How long ago! He stood outside our lodgings the next morning. His dreadful face was like a devil’s. Then we knew we must go. When the bill was paid we had only a few shillings left. In our sickness we turned to you, and we set off tramping, tramping down to Winton by easy stages. Jason carried the child; my arms were too weak.”
“And he—that other?”
“He’s sure to follow us, but he won’t know we’ve walked.”
I remembered the figure on the bridge four nights ago, and was silent.
“Renalt, what can we do?”
“Jason has gone to me for money, I suppose?”
“Oh, if you could only let us have a little; we might escape abroad again and bury ourselves in some faraway spot, where he could never find us.”
“Zyp, listen to me. My father died last night.”
“Died? The old man! Oh, Renny, Renny!”
“He had been long ailing. I have been wandering all day to try to restore my shattered nerves. That is why I have not met Jason.”