Judith, with overflowing eyes, folded up the white dress, but she could not prevent some tears falling on it, and the dress, already stained with blood, was also stained with tears. The thought of Jacqueline, though, could not banish the thought of Throckmorton; the more so when Jacqueline, beckoning, brought Judith close to her. Judith thought she wanted something for her comfort.
“You must tell him; he will take it better from you.”
Jacqueline, lying wide awake in the bed, and Judith, sitting by her, holding her hand, were both expectant of Throckmorton. At last, about half-past eight, his firm step was heard on the porch. Judith’s heart leaped into her mouth; she did not exactly take in all the bearings of what Jacqueline had told her, or whether she was or was not married to Freke; and Throckmorton, with his knowledge of affairs, would know all.
She rose silently and went down-stairs, leaving Delilah with Jacqueline. Throckmorton was standing before the fire in the drawing-room. There was something in his determined eye and in his tone as he spoke to her that struck a chill to Judith’s heart.
“Jacqueline, has come, you know,” she said.
“Yes, Simon Peter told me so at the door. It does not surprise me.”
Judith remained silent for a few moments, when Throckmorton, suddenly wheeling toward her, and looking her straight in the face, said, curtly:
“What is all this? She never was near Mrs. Steptoe’s. I found out, by having my letter returned to me by Mrs. Steptoe herself. What has made her ill? Don’t tremble so, but tell me—you know I have a right to know it all.”
But Judith continued to be silent and to tremble. She even began to weep; but Throckmorton, taking her hand, said, firmly: