“Heard what?”
“I’ve just come from the harbour, and they’re all talking about it.”
“Yes? What—some wreck?”
“No; about Mr Chris Lisle.”
“What about him—dead?” said Sarah Woodham, in a hoarse whisper, as she laid her hand upon her side and thought of Claude.
“Better if he was, my dear,” said the gardener hoarsely, and in her excitement the woman did not think to resent his familiarity. “They are saying that he murdered master with poison.”
Sarah reeled, and would have fallen, so great was the shock the words gave her, but Brime caught her in his arms.
She recovered herself, and thrust him away.
“Mr Chris Lisle? Impossible.”
“So I thought, but he was skulking about our grounds that night, for I caught him hiding.”