"Yes, sir."
Hetty also stood up. She sighed deeply.
"The knowledge of it has nearly killed me," she said at last, sinking back again into her seat.
"I am not surprised at that," said the Squire. "You did what you did out of consideration for me, and I suppose I ought to be deeply indebted to you"—he paused and looked fixedly at her—"all the same," he continued, "I fully believe it would have been much better had you not sworn falsely in court—had you not given wrong evidence."
"Did you think I'd let you swing for it?" said the girl with flashing eyes.
"I should probably not have swung for it, as you express it. You could have proved that the assault was unprovoked, and that I did what I did in self-defence. I wish you had not concealed the truth at the time."
"Sir, is that all the thanks you give me? You do not know what this has been to me. Aunt Fanny and I——"
"Does your aunt, Mrs. Armitage, know the truth?"
"I had to tell Aunt Fanny or I'd have gone mad, sir. She and me, we swore on the Bible that we would never tell mortal man or woman what I saw done. You're as safe with Aunt Fanny and me, Mr. Robert, as if no one in all the world knew. You were one of the Family—that was enough for aunt—and you was to me——" she paused, colored, and looked down. Then she continued abruptly, "Mr. Everett was nothing, nothing to me, nothing to aunt. He was a stranger, not one of our own people. Aunt Fanny kept me up to it, and I didn't make one single mistake in court, and not a soul in all the world guesses."
"One person suspects," said Awdrey.