“What do you mean, Agatha?”
Lady Selina spoke very softly, but she assumed quite unconsciously the look and pose of a mistress addressing a servant. To the emancipated Agatha this was unendurable.
“I mean,” she retorted bitterly, “that my dear uncle is not mad. Words have burst from him because for all these dreary years he has been dumb—dumb.”
Lady Selina eyed her derisively, thinking of past benefits conferred upon the undeserving.
“I am waiting for further enlightenment, you thankless young woman.”
But Agatha, having shot her bolt, burst into tears. John came forward. What else could he do? A hunted glance from his future wife had set him afire. He pointed to the Bible.
“Enlightenment is in that,” he said coldly.
“The Bible!” She stared at the big book and then at John. Was he deliberately trying to be insolent? “Do you read it?” she asked, with a lift of her eyebrows.
John opened the Bible and found the fly-leaf. His voice was trembling as he replied:
“Here, on this page, are the death-dates of Farleigh’s two children, who died of diphtheria. Ever since, he has thought of things. You never guessed why he was so silent. How should you know what goes on in people’s hearts? If Farleigh is mad, who made him so? Just now I emptied the ink-pot out of that window to prevent him altering ‘died’ to——”