"No. It was never you at all."
She began to weep.
"Oh, Your Lordship!" she gasped. "Then ... who ... who ... who was it?"
I caught my breath. Gibson bent forward to be sure that all was well. Ruddington drew my free arm through his and smiled.
Susan stared at us with wide eyes.
"Oh, Miss Gertrude," she cried, with a great sob, "thank God!"
Both her warm arms were round my neck. Her soft girlish breast pressed mine, and I could feel her true heart beating wildly with grief and joy. Holding her to me as a mother holds a weeping child, I felt strangely calm. I watched the moonlight dappling the ground under the tree. I heard the sounds of the night: the stirring leaves, the far-off plash of the waves, the soft croon of the wind, the swirl of the beck, and loudest of all, my true-hearted Susan's sobs.
"Yes," I said softly. "Susan ... Gibson ... thank God! For to-night He has been good to us all."
Then I too became as a little child. I broke down and sobbed in Susan's warm embrace till a strong arm clasped me round and led me tenderly away.
Saturday morning, seven o'clock.