The haggard look came back into Fayre’s eyes. He had forgotten his own worries for the moment, carried away by Cynthia’s enthusiasm, but now they returned to him, their strength in no wise diminished. Cynthia, intent on her own thoughts, did not notice his preoccupation.
“It was the night before I went to Carlisle to stay with the Campbells. I didn’t tell her why I was going, because we’d agreed that it was better for her not to talk about the whole thing. We hadn’t mentioned John or anything, but, when I said good night, she looked at me in such a queer way and said, somehow as if she knew it was true: ‘Don’t worry, Cynthia, John will never be convicted. I’m certain of it.’ ”
Fayre stared at her in astonishment.
“Sybil said that! Did she give any reason for it?”
“None, but she seemed so curiously certain. Almost as if she knew something. She didn’t say any more and she looked so desperately ill and tired that I just went. Do you think she had some sort of second-sight, Uncle Fayre? People do do that sort of thing when they’ve been very ill, don’t they? I’m certain she wasn’t just saying it to reassure me.”
The worried lines on Fayre’s face deepened.
“I don’t know,” he said, “and I can’t understand it. I was under the impression that she was worrying about the whole thing more than was good for her. It never occurred to me that she was in the least hopeful. I only hope she’s right. You know she’s been very ill again?”
“Yes. Edward wrote to Bill. He was a fool to whisk her off like that before she was really fit. It was Dr. Gregg’s fault, really, for saying she could go. It’s funny, but he felt just as you did about the case. He said she must be got away from the atmosphere of the whole thing because she was wearing herself to a thread over it and would never have a chance of pulling up unless she got right away. And she’s the only person who’s given me any real hope!”
“You’re very fond of Sybil, aren’t you?” asked Fayre thoughtfully.
Cynthia stared at him.