As the man entered the room, Margaret arose and faced him. The Englishman was well dressed, and newly shaven, and wore a rosebud in his buttonhole. Evidently, he had spent some time over his toilet in honor of the occasion.
"I'm glad to see you up and looking so well," he said pleasantly. "I was afraid your running away would hurt you."
"I—I must thank you for what you have done for me, Mr. Styles," she answered.
"Oh, that's all right, Miss Margaret. I'd do as much for you any day.
I think it's a bloomin' shame the way you have been treated."
"Well, I suppose it cannot be helped. But I must be getting back soon.
You will show me the road?"
"Don't be in a hurry to go. You're not strong enough to go. Besides—" the Englishman paused impressively. "What's the use of going back? Don't you know things look beastly black for you?"
"Perhaps, but I am not afraid—now. I am not guilty, Mr. Styles."
"Of course not! Of course not! I knew that from the start. But things do look black, no use of talking. I want to help you." He came closer, at which she retreated a step.
"Thank you, but I do not see what you can do. I must go back and give myself up. I—I was not myself when I ran away. It was a very foolish thing to do."
"If you go back, do you know what they will do? They will surely hang you?"