“Quite sure.”
Another silence.
Then the vicar spoke. His voice was not affected by the alarming announcement, except that it was, perhaps, unusually gentle and kind. He laid a sympathetic hand on the shoulder of his brother, who still remained, with head bowed down, unable to meet their eyes.
“And, of course, you think he is here about that unfortunate business of ten years ago?”
Evelyn shuddered, and glanced first at her husband and then at the broken-down man on the other side of her. Her lips moved, imploring Meredith to be kind, to be careful. Vernon raised his head, looking still at the carpet.
“I suppose so,” he answered, in a husky voice. “Not that we need trouble ourselves. What can he really do? Nothing. I—I am as safe as ever.”
The vicar withdrew his hand. Calm as he had remained, he seemed to breathe more freely at this assurance.
“I hope so, indeed,” he said, solemnly; “for all our sakes.”
Vernon rose, and his eyes met those of his brother for the first time. He tried to speak, but only a dry, choking sound came from his parched mouth. He seized the hand his brother held out to him, and wrung it till the clasp of his thin, nervous fingers left livid marks on the soft pink flesh.
“God bless you,” murmured the vicar, in his warmest tones of encouragement and sympathy.