“Oh, certainly,” Jack answered; “there she goes in the buggy! Here, wait a moment, Una! I’ll run after her to the gate this minute and tell her.”
He sprang lightly on to the parapet of the verandah. Then, with one hand held behind him to poise himself, palm open backward, he leapt with a bound to the road, and darted after her hurriedly.
My heart stood still within me. That action revealed him. The back, the open hand, the gesture, the bend—I would have known them anywhere. With a horrible revulsion I recognised the truth. This was my father’s murderer! This was Courtenay Ivor!
CHAPTER XVIII. — MURDER WILL OUT
He was gone but for three minutes. Meanwhile, I buried my face in my burning hands, and cried to myself in unspeakable misery.
For, horrible as it sounds to say so, I knew perfectly well now that Jack was Dr. Ivor: yet, in spite of that knowledge, I loved him still. He was my father’s murderer; and I couldn’t help loving him!
It was that that filled up the cup of my misery to overflowing. I loved the man well: and I must turn to denounce him.
He came back, flushed and hot, expecting thanks for his pains.