“Well, we’ll change the subject; there’s going to be a funeral here to-night,” Aline observed.
“No, really?” exclaimed half a dozen voices.
“Yes, it’s a terrible story and it really ought not to be known; but you’ll keep it secret I know,” she said, lowering her voice to a whisper.
As they crowded round her she went on in mysterious tones, “You know John Darley and Philip Emberlin.”
“Yes,” said Joe, rousing himself to take in the situation, “they are coming here to-night.”
“They’ve a long way to come and they are not strong,” said Aline, “and they will arrive hungry and just have to be buried, because there was nothing to eat. Yes, it’s a sad story; I’m not surprised to see the tears in your eyes, Joseph, and, in fact, in a manner of speaking you might say that you will have killed them, you and your accomplices,” she added, looking round.
A good tempered laugh greeted this last sally.
“Marry, we have much to get through. How can I help? It would be a sorry thing that Holwick should be disgraced before its guests. Give me something to do.”
There was nothing in the words, but the tone was one of dignity combined with gentleness and sympathy.