‘Not yet. I had no time, indeed. When I found your daughter there, I felt I ought to take her away as soon as possible, simply because you did not know how matters were, and I had a hint—as to gossip. I must go back now, however, and tell her before my train leaves.’
‘You have little time,’ says the Rector, glancing at his watch. ‘Go. Make haste.’
‘There is one thing more,’ says Wyndham quickly, ‘and I think you should hear it. She—I don’t know anything for certain—but I feel almost sure that the poor girl is illegitimate. And, of course, you—’
‘I?’
‘You would not like an acquaintance between her and your daughters?’
‘You mistake me there,’ says the Rector; ‘a misfortune is not a fault. And the fact that this poor girl has been the victim of others’ vices should not be allowed to militate against her.’
‘Hardly a fact,’ says Wyndham quickly. ‘I speak only from very uncertain data, and yet—’
‘I know. It seems, unhappily, only too likely, however. There, go; you have little time.’
CHAPTER XXVIII.
‘Weeping and wailing, care and other sorrow,