They both emerged from the chapel. Lupin slammed the door after him, and arm in arm they walked up the court together.
Poor Mrs. Oakley felt that to be the most trying moment of all for her nerves. While she had much to do—while she was alone with Lupin in the domestic portion of the chapel, and while she knew that the least slip of the tongue, or the least want of control over her feelings might be her death—she conducted herself gallantly; but now when she was fairly in the open air, now that she was in comparative safety, her feelings almost got the better of her.
It was only by a powerful effort that she could at all control them.
She felt that by suddenly quitting the arm of Lupin, and making a rush for it, she might escape him, but then she did not want him to escape the consequences of his crime, for Mrs. Oakley had a woman's sympathy with the fate even of the not very respectable Mrs. Lupin. Besides, with all the vindictive hate that he might be supposed to feel upon finding that his guilt was known, he might yet pursue her, and before she could find aid, kill her.
"I must still dissemble," she thought, "and speak this most monstrous villain fairly."
"Quite a charming morning, reverend sir," she said.
"Very," said Lupin.
"I really am afraid that I am sadly intruding upon your time, by letting you come with me?"
"Oh, no—no—no."
He seemed to be getting very thoughtful, and Mrs. Oakley was proportionably more and more upon her guard, for she felt convinced that if he really thought she knew anything of his guilt he would kill her.