“What!” she exclaimed.
“I have seen it,” he said.
She was utterly dumbfounded, and could only stare at him. After a moment he continued: “I imagine that you were to be safely tied up to him in the few days that remain before you come of age. Have you considered that by Friday you will be free from Worth’s guardianship?”
“What can that signify?” she said. “Oh, it will not do, cousin! Captain Audley is a man of honour, incapable of such baseness!”
“Money can drive a man to measures more desperate than you have any notion of,” he said, a hard note in his voice. “Worth has made attempt after attempt on Perry’s life. You know it to be true!”
“No,” she said faintly, “I do not know it to be true. I cannot think—my head feels empty! I must wait until I have seen Perry. How far do we have to travel?”
“You would not know the place. It is some miles west of Henfield. I was led to it by a series of circumstances—but I will not weary you with all the miserable details.”
She did not speak; her senses were almost overpowered; she could only lean back in her corner, trying to conjure up every recollection that should prove or disprove his accusations. He looked at her compassionately, but seemed to understand her need of silence. Once he said, as though impelled: “If I could have spared you! But I could not!”
She tried to answer him, but her voice failed. She turned her head away to stare blindly out of the window.
The carriage was bowling along at a brisk pace, only checking at the turnpikes. For many miles Judith was scarcely aware of the distance they were covering, but when they left the pike-road and branched off on to a rough lane she roused herself, and looking at her cousin in a blank way, said: “Have we to go much farther? We must have come a long way. Should we not change horses?”