She had turned pale. He stepped toward her, but she drew back.
“No, don’t,” she gasped.
He came no nearer. She was silent, for a moment, looking at him. Then, with a sharp catch of the breath, she leaned forward.
“Go on!” she said quickly. “Why don’t you go on? Tell me the rest.”
He shook his head. “I can’t tell any more,” he answered.
“But you must tell me. Don’t you see you must?”
“No, I don’t. I have not told any one else as much as that. I did not mean to tell anything.”
“But you must tell. And they know—every one knows—or guesses. Some one saw you here. Oh, Bob!” with a desperate stamp of the foot, “can’t you see what this may mean? They will begin to think—to say—”
He lifted his hand. “I understand,” he said. “You mean they will soon be saying that it was not your uncle’s horse that hurt Covell that night. They will say that I did it, knocked him down, tried to kill him, perhaps. Well, I expected that.... Tell me: Do you believe it?”
Her eyes flashed.