"I know—I know," he said quickly; and then haltingly: "I've been—so beastly lonely, Avery. Make allowances for me—forgive me!"
He had not taken her hand; she slipped it into his. "I do," she said simply. She felt his fingers close tensely, but in a moment they opened again and set her free.
He did not utter another word, merely walked on beside her till they reached the Vicarage gate. She thought he would have left her there, but he did not. They went up the drive together to the porch.
From his kennel at the side of the house Mike barked a sharp challenge that turned into an unmistakable note of welcome as they drew near. Avery silenced him with a reassuring word.
She found the key, and in the darkness of the porch she began to fumble for the lock.
Piers stooped. "Let me!"
She gave him the key, and as she stood up again she noted the brightness of the fanlight over the floor. She thought that she had lowered the light at leaving; she had certainly intended to do so.
Very softly Piers opened the door. It swung noiselessly back upon its hinges, and the full light smote upon them.
In the same instant a slim, white figure came calmly forward through the hall and stopped beneath the lamp.
Olive Lorimer, pale, severe, with fixed, accusing eyes, stood confronting them.