“If, Luke, I can quiet all Sir Richard Pelham’s suspicions, will you delay the evil moment?”
“I don’t understand what you are talking about.”
“Nor can I explain; but I think I shall succeed. Now go on—what will happen after Sir Richard has been before the magistrate?”
“He will be remanded, in order that the Home Secretary may give an order for the exhumation of the child’s body.”
Clara turned whiter than ever. She trembled all over.
“What is the matter with you?” said her husband. “You are not the woman you were a few months ago. If I had known that I was really about to unite myself to such a vacillating, poor, weak—what is wrong?”
“Nothing. I trembled because I suddenly thought of the ace of trumps.”
“The ace of trumps! Good heavens! Are you mad?”
“No, Luke, I am sane—quite sane. I only remembered that I hold the ace of trumps in my hand, and therefore I have no real cause for fear. You will be obliged to do what I wish. You must not have Sir Richard arrested next week—not for a month or two months.”
“Let it be a bargain, then,” said Tarbot. “Provided Pelham does not go to extremities, provided his present suspicions are lulled to rest, I am willing to let the matter lie over until Christmas. Will that content you?”