Her voice had a harsh note quite unlike its own; she sank down in a heap on the floor, staring before her. She knew what she would do if Jim died. She would first of all find the man who had killed him, and then—oh, he should pay for it!
Jim had fallen into a kind of drowsy state, and presently his hand slipped down and unconsciously touched hers: it was very cold. Betty, rousing herself, went towards the hearth, drawing the embers together. There was not enough fuel, however, to make much of a fire; and, softly opening the door, she went out to the woodshed, her bare feet making no sound on the damp stones. As she was returning with her burden the wicket-gate swung open, and Dick Tuffin come up the path.
“Mrs. Whittle! Mrs. Whittle!” he called pantingly.
She turned and confronted him. The moon had dipped behind the trees and she could not distinguish his face, but something in the aspect of the man struck her with a lightning-like intuition.
“Come in,” she said hoarsely.
Dick followed her into the house, starting back at sight of the prostrate figure on the couch. Betty dropped her wood on the hearth and came swiftly across to him with her panther-like tread. There was an expression on her face which might have recalled the beast in question. She placed both her hands upon his breast, and he, giving way before them, stepped backwards a few paces.
“Look at him,” said Betty; “he is dying! Dick Tuffin, it is you who have killed my husband!”
“I swear I didn’t know it was him,” faltered Dick. “I’d no thought of harm. I went out with the others for a frolic. You yourself did tell I your husband was miles away.”
She had told him! He would make out that she had delivered him into their hands! A red mist came before her eyes.
“Even when he did catch I,” went on Dick, “I didn’t know who ’twas. But somebody told me jist now that Stubbs was runnin’ for the doctor for en, so I come—I couldn’t rest, ye see. I had to come. Mrs. Whittle, I don’t know what you’ll say to me.”