"It must be, sir. The man--Lestrange I mean--was not in England when the Quiet Gentleman lived in this village. I believe Brown had to do with the stealing of the body and the murder. But, then, Brown is not Lestrange. Who he is I don't know!"
"Alan!" cried Sophy--for if what Lestrange stated was true, this hypocrisy was detestable--"you are not straightforward with me!"
"Indeed I am," he said, with a stare of astonishment. "I have told you of my discoveries. Why should I deceive you?"
"Why, indeed!" said the girl bitterly. "You know how much I love you, yet you keep me in the dark about matters which concern us both--matters which I, if any one, have a right to know."
He might have had some inkling of what she meant, for his face turned a dark red. Nevertheless, he held himself well in hand, and looked inquiringly at the Rector.
"What does she mean, sir?"
"I think you can guess," said Phelps, more coldly than he had ever before spoken to Alan.
"No; upon my word, I----"
Sophy rose from her chair and closed his mouth with her hand.
"Don't! don't!" she cried despairingly.