'For God's sake,' I said, catching her by the shoulders. 'Now come on.' I shook her. 'Why was my mother shut in that room?'
Her grey eyes were full of tears. 'No,' she sobbed. 'I can't. I mustn't.' I shook her violently. Then she looked up at me. The tears were trickling out of her wide eyes. For a moment she seemed unable to find her voice. Then she said in a whisper that I could scarcely hear: 'Don't you see — she killed my mother.'
'I don't believe it,' I said.
'Please let me go now.' She was sobbing quietly.
'No,' I said. 'I don't believe it. You're not telling me the truth.
Why should she do a thing like that? She loved you. She said so in that letter.'
'Perhaps,' she said. Her voice was suddenly sad. 'She was very sweet. She used to bring me out here on the hills and tell me fairy stories and teach me the names of the flowers and birds. I loved her very much. And then — " Her voice trembled and broke. 'Oh God! It was horrible,' she sobbed.
I sat her gently on the heather. 'What was horrible?' I said.
'You may as well know now,' she said quietly. 'She wasn't responsible for what she did. I'm sure of that. But afterwards — I was always frightened of her afterwards.'
'You mean she was mad?' I asked.