“The police? Do you mean that?”
“Yes. They have haunted us both ever since we left the Blue Lion,” whispered she, earnestly. “And I know they are trying to find out the mystery—you know what—through him. Isn’t it dreadful!”
Clifford did not answer at once. It seemed to him that the chances of his being able to save the girl were growing small indeed. Her own utter hopelessness, her nervous dread, had affected him during the short silences between their questions and answers to each other; she seemed to be always listening, straining her ears for any sound outside. The cry of a street urchin made her start, a cart passing quickly at the corner of the street sent the blood to her forehead. Her nerves, poor child, were altogether shaken.
Clifford looked at her in dismay. Even the strong love which had stood every test was apparently powerless to give her more than momentary comfort.
“My darling,” he whispered, “let me take you up to town to-night. I will take you straight to your aunt’s, and in the shortest time possible I will marry you, and take you out of England altogether.”
Nell drew back and stared at him.
“You don’t understand,” she said. “This case is really coming on now. The police don’t disguise that they know enough to go upon now. I have the strongest reason, the very strongest, for believing that they will come for me to-day.”
“To arrest you?” cried Clifford, hoarsely. She began to tremble and to look at him askance.
“No, not to arrest me,” and she shuddered. Then a look of terror, more acute than ever, came into her eyes. “Perhaps that is it. Perhaps that is really what they mean to do,” she whispered doubtfully. “They said it was only my evidence they wanted, but—but—”
She hesitated—stopped. Clifford’s heart was wrung. Surely no jury that ever sat could convict this poor, helpless, gentle girl of anything but unconscious crime. He would have staked his life that she was as innocent of these mysterious crimes in intent as he was himself of them in deed.