She looked up into his kind, tired face—oh, so gratefully, and held out her hand for the envelope.
“I think I’ll go walking on, for a bit, by myself. Don’t be frightened if I don’t come in for an hour or so.”
She tried to smile, but failed.
Mrs. Maclean got into the car, and the husband and wife drove off together, their hearts heavy with pity and that most painful of sensations that nothing they could say or do could help the poor girl they both loved so dearly.
After a few moments Mrs. Maclean made a restless movement.
“Don’t look round,” said the doctor sharply. “I know what’s in the letter I’ve just given the poor lass. He’s not only offered to release her from their engagement, but he begs her strongly to allow it to come to an end. Whatever he may have done, there’s something very fine about the chap. Both Toogood and the governor of the prison told me that Jean is never out of his mind—and not selfishly in it, mark you.”
“She’ll never give him up,” said Mrs. Maclean woefully.
“Bide a wee, my dear. I think she’ll do anything he asks her to do; and though I haven’t seen the letter I know that he’s put it very strongly to her. He’s assured her—a splendid lie if ever there was one—that the breaking of their engagement will be to his benefit, I mean during the course of the trial.”
“If he’s said that, perhaps she’ll do it.”
“The governor had a little talk with me before the proceedings began. He’s so much impressed with Garlett’s way of taking the whole thing that he half believes him to be innocent. I wish I could believe it”—unconsciously he was slowing down—“it’s no good my pretending that I don’t feel very wretched, the more so that I know well enough that if he’s hung it will be my testimony that will hang him.”