He raised her fingers to his lips and sat down by her side. She seemed entirely delighted by his presence, and he felt instinctively that she was quite unaffected by the event of the night before.
“You slept well?” he enquired.
“Perfectly,” she answered.
He tackled the subject bravely, as he had made up his mind to on every opportunity.
“You do not lie awake thinking of our nocturnal visitor, then?”
“Not for one moment. You see,” she went on conversationally, “if you were really Everard, then I might be frightened, for some day or other I feel that if Everard comes here, the spirit of Roger Unthank will do him some sort of mischief.”
“Why?” he asked.
“You don't know about these things, of course,” she went on, “but Roger Unthank was in love with me, although I had scarcely ever spoken to him, before I married Everard. I think I told you that much yesterday, didn't I? After I was married, the poor man nearly went out of his mind. He gave up his work and used to haunt the park here. One evening Everard caught him and they fought, and Roger Unthank was never seen again. I think that any one around here would tell you,” she went on, dropping her voice a little, “that Everard killed Roger and threw him into one of those swampy places near the Black Wood, where a body sinks and sinks and nothing is ever seen of it again.”
“I do not believe he did anything of the sort,” Dominey declared.
“Oh, I don't know,” she replied doubtfully. “Everard had a terrible temper, and that night he came home covered with blood, looking—awful! It was the night when I was taken ill.”