"Would you really?"
Morna started to her feet. The vicar rose more slowly, after sitting for some moments in mute confusion. It was Mrs. Steel who stood before them on their lawn, pale as death, and ten years older since the day before, yet with a smile upon her bloodless lips, which appeared indeed to express some faint irresistible amusement.
"Would you really like to know?" she repeated, standing at a distance from them, her great eyes travelling from one to the other. "It is strange, because I had come on purpose to tell you both that and all the rest—but especially all the rest—in which it seems Mrs. Venables has been before me." She paused an instant, and the corners of her sad mouth twitched just once. "What my husband did," said Rachel, "was to lock the doors and refuse to let her out until she had begged my pardon."
"I hope she did so," said Hugh Woodgate, with the emphasis which often atoned for the inadequacy of his remarks.
"In about three minutes," replied Rachel, dryly, with some pride, but no triumph in her tone.
Morna had not spoken. Now she took a quick step forward, her eyes brimming. But Rachel held up her hand.
"You are sure you realize who I am?"
"Yes, Rachel."
"Rachel Minchin!" added Rachel, harshly. "The notorious Mrs. Minchin—the Mrs. Minchin whom Mr. Venables would have come to see hanged!"
"Hush, Rachel, hush!"