"Well, you see, she's married no one else."
"I make nothing of that. Besides, if she really loved him, do you think she'd have thrown him over?"
"Yes," said Sprague, after a moment's hesitation.
"How do you make it out?"
"No woman with such pride as Olive has could have married him after the letter I wrote. I presented a strong case, man. You see, Leicester gave himself away so completely, that I had only to quote his exact words to prove—well, exactly what I wanted to prove. At any rate, she did throw him over."
"Do you think Leicester really cared for her?"
"Heaven only knows. It was impossible for any one to tell exactly what he felt. At any rate, he went the whole hog afterwards, and then killed himself. Do you know, although the fellow's end was so terribly sad, I heaved a sigh of relief when I saw the report in the newspapers? If he'd lived—well, I don't like to think what would have happened to either of us. You know that terrible look in his eyes when he threatened us."
"Yes; but, after all, what could he do?"
"There's no knowing what a fellow like Leicester would have done. But there, he's dead, and that's an end of it."
The two men climbed the hill towards the moors in silence. Some distance behind, two boys followed, carrying their golf clubs.