"I am glad that you recognize the loss not to be a trifle. Most people laugh when I speak of anything so trivial as a stick. You say I shall never find it again—perhaps so. The forgetting it so completely troubles me, however. Hetty, I had a bad dream last night—no, it was not really a dream, it was a vision. I saw that murder—I witnessed the whole thing. I saw the dead man, and I saw the back of the man who committed the murder. I tried hard, but I could not get a glimpse of his face. I wanted to see his face badly. What is the matter, girl? How white you look."
"Don't say another word, sir. I have borne much for you and for your people, but there are limits, and if you say another word, I shall lose my self-control."
"I am sorry my talk has such an effect upon you, Hetty. You don't look too happy, my little girl. Your face is old—I hope your husband is good to you."
"He is as good as I deserve, Mr. Awdrey. I never had any love to give him—he knew that from the first. He married me five years ago because I was pretty, and Aunt Fanny thought I'd best be married—she thought it would make things safer—but it is a mistake to marry when your heart is given to another."
"Ah yes, poor Frere—you were in love with him, were you not?"
"No, sir, that I was not."
"I forgot—it was with Everett—poor girl, no wonder you look old."
Awdrey gave Hetty a weary glance—his attention was already beginning to flag.
"It was not with Mr. Everett," whispered Hetty in a low tone which thrilled with passion.
Awdrey took no notice. His apathy calmed her, and saved her from making a terrible avowal.