"Not far-fetched at all. I'm sure of it. He wanted us to meet that I might tell you——"
"What?" She bent forward, folding her hands in her lap and watching him searchingly. "Not
about his heroism; he'd take that for granted. Not that he'd loved me; we both knew it. Not anything self-pitying or weak that would rouse my regret——"
"You know." His assertion was almost a question. "Somehow he's got his message across to you."
She lowered her eyes and resumed her sewing. "I couldn't sleep last night. I lay awake puzzling and remembering—remembering the long waste of years, the loneliness and the love that had turned to bitterness. And now, when ordinarily there would be no chance to make amends, he sends you to me, speaking through your lips and taking possession of your thoughts. He's trying to do something for me—something that will blot out my past for me, as his sacrifice has blotted out his past for him. Something comforting and tender——"
The seconds ticked by. If she had guessed the dead man's desire, she refused to put it into words. The silence grew painful.
Tabs looked at his watch. It was nearer six than five. He rose reluctantly. "I suppose I should be going."
"But you're staying in the village to-night?"
"I hadn't intended. There'll be moonlight. I was planning to be in London by morning."
"Don't do that. You'll make me think you're afraid of meeting Terry. Dine with me to-night."