‘Yes, this afternoon. Oh, sir, ’tis impossible that Phil can die.’
‘And what doth he say—how explain this murder to you—to his wife?’ asked Sebastian curiously.
‘He says Simon Prior—(a man, sir, that I always hated, a man I made Phil quarrel with not long ago)—he says Simon Prior must have done it, else he can offer no explanation.’
‘And you—do you not think your husband did it, Carrie?’
Carrie drew back from her father for a moment in horror.
‘Sir!’ she began—but added a moment later—‘but that is because you do not know Phil.’
‘Carrie,’ said Sebastian, leaning forward to take her hand in his, ‘tell me, my child, my joy, the better part of life for me—tell me, are you as happy with Philip as you thought to be? do you love him as first you did? for youthful passions are hot, and many a time burn themselves out.’
‘I love him more a thousand times than when first I loved.’
‘And you believe no ill of him?’
‘As soon I would believe it of you, sir.’