The woman did not answer with her lips, but her dark eyes were fixed wildly on those of her mistress.
“Then it is true!”
“Claude, dear; pray come,” whispered Mary, clinging to her; but she was thrust away.
“I will know everything,” she cried, excitedly. “You, Sarah Woodham, speak out, and tell me all the truth.”
“No—no,” whispered the woman, and she stood trembling as if with ague.
“I will know,” said Claude, catching her up by the arm. “I heard what was said—that Mr Lisle was charged with murder. It could not be.”
“No, no, Claude, of course not.”
“Silence, Mary! Speak, woman, or must I go down to the beach and ask there. Tell me. It was a quarrel; they met and fought. Is Mr Glyddyr dead?”
They gazed at her wonderingly—stricken for the moment—the silence being broken by the two servants exclaiming in a breath—
“No, no, miss. It was master they said he killed.”