"You have to prove that," said Cyril cheerfully. "I am not bound to incriminate myself, you know."
Silas raised his hands to the heavens in mute appeal, for he saw that in some way, not entirely clear to him, he had brought about the very thing he had been trying to avert. Enraged at his blunder and despairing of gaining his ends, the man, timid as he usually was, would have sprung over the fence to renew the struggle with his rival, but that many dark figures were seen coming along the road. Apparently the concert was over.
In spite of his anger, Pence retained sufficient sense to decide immediately on a sensible course. He mechanically brushed his clothes, and bent over the palings to speak with Cyril. "To-morrow," he said, in a tense whisper, "you will be arrested, on my evidence, and she"—he pointed a trembling finger at Bella—"will be known as a nameless outcast."
The girl uttered a faint cry at the insult, and Cyril would have struck the man who spoke. But Pence was prepared, and swerved away from the fence with a taunting laugh, to retreat rapidly down the road towards the advancing throng.
"Come inside; come inside," said Bella, plucking at Cyril's sleeve; "you must not be seen here with me at this hour. Mr. Pence will say nothing for his own sake. Come inside until Dora returns."
This was wise counsel, so the pair hastily retreated and closed the door, before they could be seen by the sharp eyes of the village gossips. Bella ran into the dining-room, where supper was laid, and sinking into a chair, mutely pointed to the water jug. Lister, seeing how pale she was, poured out a glass, and held it to her lips. Shortly she was more her old self, as the colour returned to her cheeks and the brightness to her eyes. It was then that she asked a leading question:
"Do you think that what Mr. Pence says is true?"
"I hope so. I fervently hope so," replied Cyril, sitting down to discuss the matter, "for then we can marry, and——" he started and stopped. It occurred to him that Pence's statement might be the cause of Granny Tunks' queer remark, an explanation of which had been prevented by Durgo. Then again, from the negro's action, and from the facts that Mrs. Tunks had seen—so she said—his coming in the crystal, and obeyed him so implicitly, it might be that Durgo knew much that he would only disclose at the proper time. Of one thing Cyril was certain—namely, that Durgo was his friend, and would do his best to put things right, if Lister assisted him to recover traces of his father and the jewels, which Edwin Lister was supposed to possess.
"I shouldn't wonder if Pence's statement was true," said Cyril, musingly, as he reflected on the present position of affairs. "It did seem strange to me that such a rough sea-dog as Huxham undoubtedly was, should have so refined a daughter as you."
"I thought it was my education, and——"