“No, it would not be wise,” she said.
At that moment there was the sound of the dining-room door being opened, and Claude sprang to her feet.
“Mary! Woodham!” she panted. “He is coming.”
“Claude! Claude, darling!” cried Mary, with a sob, as she flew to her cousin’s arms.
“Keep Woodham here too. He’s coming! Do you hear?”
“But, Claude, dearest, he is master here. You made him so. You are his wife.”
“Yes, Mary. I was blind and mad. I forced myself to it, thinking it must be my father’s will—my duty to the dead. But it is too horrible. Chris could not have done this thing.”
“No, no, my poor darling; he could not have been so vile.”
And as the cousins clung together, Mary felt the heart that beat against hers fluttering like that of some prisoner bird. There was the sound of an angry voice in the hall, and then a door was opened.
“Oh, you’re there, are you?”