Lucy Monckton rose from her chair in genuine agitation. Her better angel tugged at her heartstrings.
"Forgive me, sir, oh, forgive me!" she cried, bursting into tears. Then she caught a bitter, threatening glance of her bad angel fixed upon her, and she said to Monckton, "I can say no more, I can do no more. It was fourteen years ago—I can't break people's hearts. Hush it up amongst you. I have made a hero weep; his tears burn me. I don't care for the man; I'll go no further. You, sir, have taken a deal of trouble and expense. I dare say Colonel Clifford will compensate you; I leave the matter with you. No power shall make me act in it any more."
Monckton wrote hastily on his card, and said, quite calmly, "Well, I really think, madam, you are not fit to take part in such a conference as this. Compose yourself and retire. I know your mind in the matter better than you do yourself at this moment, and I will act accordingly."
She retired, and drove away to the Dun Cow, which was the place Monckton had appointed when he wrote upon the card.
"Colonel Clifford," said Monckton, "all that is a woman's way. When she is out of sight of you, and thinks over her desertion and her unfortunate condition—neither maid, wife, nor widow—she will be angry with me if I don't obtain her some compensation."
"She deserves compensation," said the Colonel, gravely.
"Especially if she holds her tongue," said Monckton.
"Whether she holds her tongue or not," said the Colonel. "I don't see how I can hold mine, and you have already told my daughter-in-law. A separation between her and my son is inevitable. The compensation must be offered, and God help me, I'm a magistrate, if only to compound the felony."
"Surely," said Monckton, "it can be put upon a wider footing than that; let me think," and he turned away to the open window; but when he got there he saw a lot of miners clustering about. Now he had no fear of their recognizing him, since he had not left a vestige of the printed description. But the very sight of them, and the memory of what they had done to his dead accomplice, made him shudder at them. Henceforth he kept away from the window, and turned his back to it.
"I think with you, sir," said he, mellifluously, "that she ought to have a few thousands by way of compensation. You know she could claim alimony, and be a very blister to you and yours. But on the other hand I do think, as an impartial person, that she ought to keep this sad secret most faithfully, and even take her maiden name again."