Simone's eyes wandered to the letter, lying where Marion had laid it down.
'Give it to me,' said Marion. Once more, word by word, she deciphered the ill-written sheet; then, handing it to Simone: 'Read it,' she said, and buried her face in her hands. Simone took up the letter.
'DEERE MISTRESS—Doe nott, i pray you, take ofence that i doe writ you againe, having but writt you shortlie. Mv hearte be that sore i must write, tho i doe scarce knowe what i sett downe. The Post boy from Bodmin hath just visitted Garth where i had gone to speke with Peter, none knoweing.
'A sore troubble hath fallen on us, deere mistress, and i doe pray God you will returne soone, for if there be anny help tis from you. Master Roger hath been taken by the Taunton soljers for haveing toled Master Hooper him being in danger with Jeffreys men. Master Hooper hath fledde in safetie, somme say by boate from Porlock. And the post boy doe say deere Master Roger must stande in his sted and belike—But that be maine sure idle talke but i be that distrawte the post boy doe allsoe saye the talke is a furrin younge ladie who did see the governoure at Bodmin verrie secrettlie, and tolde him of Master Roger, and the governoure's man who did heere at the doore did talke haveing taken strong waters or else hee would nott dare. i pray God no harm fall to Master Roger but if he shoulde hang that other shal nott live nor doe she desserve. So may God helpe us al and doe deere mistress I pray thee com home.
from CHARITY thes, moste dutifull.
'GARTH, this tenth daye of July.'
Simone laid the crumpled sheet on the table without a word, and stood looking down at the bright bowed head, a speechless sorrow in her face. In the weeks she had passed in Marion's company she had learned a great deal about Garth, could see the inmates in a picture gallery of her own imaginings: the Admiral, the old Salt Eagle, whom she already loved; Roger Trevannion, one, she was certain, to be wholly trusted at sight; and, the sinister figure in the group, her outlines filled in mainly by Marion's silences, the Admiral's ward. The quiet brown eyes lightened with a sudden fury as she thought of Elise, then sobered again to grief and fear as she looked at the stricken form huddled in the chair. There was something terrifying in Marion's stillness and silence.
Kneeling down before her, Simone passed her arms round Marion, and leaned her face against her shoulder. All idea of fitness of manner due in a servant for the moment left her mind. Here was the only being she loved in the world, wounded sorely. She rubbed her cheek up and down the passive arm. Presently Marion gave a shuddering sigh, and lifting her head, looked into the faithful brown eyes searching her face.
'He is dead by now,' she said quietly. 'Dead. Do you hear me?'
The eyes took on again that set look, wandering over Simone's head to the brightness of the garden. Simone dropped her face down on to Marion's cold, folded hands. Her warm lips sought the fingers. Marion leaned back in her chair.