He raised his head at the sound of her approach, and she started back and gave a little cry of terror.
His face was ashy white, his eyes were bloodshot, and a strange hunted look in them that she had never seen before.
‘Edward!’ she cried, running to him and falling on her knees beside him—‘Edward, you are ill!’
He raised her gently.
‘No, Ruth,’ he said, ‘it’s nothing. Don’t make a fuss, there’s a good girl. Give me the brandy out of the cellaret.’
Ruth took her keys from the little basket she carried, and gave him the brandy.
He half filled a glass and swallowed it at a draught.
‘I’m better now,’ he said. ‘Don’t ask me any questions, there’s a good girl. I’m going to bed for an hour or two. I shall be all right directly.’
He seemed to avoid her gaze. He wanted to get away from her, and, with a woman’s quick instinct, she saw it. She let him go, and then she fell on her knees, and, with tears streaming down her cheeks, she sobbed out a prayer to God to watch over and protect her husband, and to let no black shadows come to mar their lives—lives that had been so happy until now.
The squire came down to luncheon, but he was still white and restless. He answered Gertie and his wife haphazard, and evidently did not know what he said.