Without answering Lionel picked up from the ground what seemed like a piece of the darkness.
"You'd better take my arm, Mrs. Merle, the road's quite rough here." He offered his arm with an awkward movement.
"What is it? What have you got there?"
She snatched the thing from under his arm; she needed no one to tell her whose it was, this soft, black felt hat.
"Where did you get it? It's wet—it's dripping wet!"
He felt her nails in his wrist.
"I—I found it—I found it——"
"Where? Where did you find it?" she shrieked.
"By the lake," faltered Lionel.
The curate's wife neither fainted nor lost her head. Her fingers relaxed and she became strangely, terribly calm.