"No, sir, no!" Dick looked at him with a tight-lipped smile that was somehow terrible. "Don't do that! You won't want to be—a witness against me."
"Pooh!" said the squire again. "I may be of use to you before it comes to that. But before we start let me tell you one thing, Dick! She married you because she loved you—for no other reason."
A sharp spasm contracted Dick's hard features; he set his lips and said nothing.
"That's the truth," the squire proceeded, watching him. "And you know it. She might have bolted with Saltash before if she had wanted to. She had ample opportunity."
Dick's hands clenched at his sides, but still he said nothing.
"She loved you," the squire said again. "Lady Jo—or no Lady Jo—she loved you. It wasn't make-believe. She was fairly caught—against her will possibly—but still caught. She's run away from you now—run away with another man—because she couldn't stay and face you. Is that convincing proof, do you think, that she has ceased to love you? It wouldn't convince me."
Dick's clenched hands were beating impotently against his sides.
"I—can't say, sir," he said, between his set teeth.
The squire moved impulsively, laid a hand on his shoulder. "Dick, I've seen a good deal—suffered a good deal—in my time; enough to know the real thing when I see it. She's loved you as long as she's known you, and it's been the same with you. You're not going to deny that? You can't deny it!"
Dick made a quick gesture of protest. For a moment the tortured soul of the man looked out of his eyes. "Does that make it any better?" he said harshly.
"In my opinion, yes." Fielding spoke with decision. "She may have taken refuge with Saltash, but that doesn't prove anything—except that the poor girl had no one else to turn to. You had failed her—or anyhow you didn't offer to stand by."