Recovering herself, Nell suddenly pushed her away.
“It is not fit that I should sit here and be comforted by you, child,” she said, abruptly but not harshly, “when it’s you have brought it all upon us—and it’s ruin, that’s what it is—ruin!”
“Mrs. Bean! What do you mean?”
“Why, that this is the end of it all, the end I’ve been dreading for years, but worse, a thousand times worse, than I ever guessed it would be! I thought it would only be the smuggling, and a break-up of the old gang. I never thought it would be murder!”
“Murder!” hissed out Freda, not indeed in surprise, but in fear.
“Yes, and you know it, for all you may say. You know that the man-servant Blewitt was murdered. And if you go in there, and listen to that man’s mutterings”—and she pointed towards the sick-room—“you’ll know more.”
Freda shook from head to foot, and at first tried in vain to speak.
“What does he say! What does he know?”
“He knows that it was murder, for one thing, but he knows more than that, or I’m much mistaken. It’s on his mind, and as the fever rises, it will all come out.”
She began to sob again and to dry her eyes. Freda at first stood motionless beside her, but as Nell got the better of her outburst, the girl took courage and touched her on the shoulder.