‘No, no. I believe you, Wyndham—I believe you thoroughly,’ says the Rector gently. ‘I am indeed sorry for my late distrust of you; but you will admit that there was cause. That poor girl! You have utterly failed, then, to discover those people with whom she had been living before that—that dreadful night?’
‘So far, yes. But the fact that they once did live there goes far to establish the truth of her—’ He stammers a little, but Mr. Barry takes him up:
‘Her story? It entirely, in my opinion, establishes the truth of her story.’ Wyndham’s stammer has added to the truth of his declaration so far as the Rector is concerned.
‘You have a more liberal mind than mine,’ says Wyndham. ‘I have told you so much that I may as well make you my father confessor in toto.’ The smile that accompanies this is rather strained. ‘As a fact, there was a time when I did not believe in her story myself; and now, when I have to—well, it makes me feel rather poor, you know.’
‘You have no occasion to feel anything,’ says the Rector, ‘except that you have been a kind friend to her. Do you think you will be able to trace that fellow Moore?’
‘I hope so. I have engaged a detective—one of the smartest fellows in Dublin—and I depend upon him to run down that scoundrel in a month or so.’
‘In the meantime I shall make it my business to explain to everybody how matters really are,’ says the Rector. ‘To tell the people we know round here that—’
‘I beg you won’t,’ says Wyndham hurriedly. ‘Have I not told you how she desires privacy above all things, how she dreads her discovery by that man? I know it all sounds mysterious, Mr. Barry—that it is asking a great deal of your credulity to expect you to believe it all—but I still hope you will believe me, and at all events I know her secret is safe in your hands. I myself have thought of suggesting to her to face matters bravely, and if Moore should prove troublesome, why, to fight it out with him. I cannot believe he has any actual claim on her; but she has such an almost obstinate determination not to risk the chance of meeting him that I fear she will not be moved by what I say. This shutting of herself up in that cottage seems a mania with her—such a mania that I cannot but think her story true, and that she suffered considerably at that fellow’s hands.’
‘It looks like it,’ says the Rector.
‘Perhaps you will be able to combat her fears,’ says Wyndham rather awkwardly. ‘I should be very glad if you could, as this mystery surrounding her is—er—decidedly uncomfortable for me. You have seen that.’