And Fanny and I both obeyed her like children.
She looked at me straight.
"How could I prove you, Mr. Ticehurst," she said, in a low voice, "was what I asked the other night. Now the means are in my power. What are you going to do?"
"I am going to the Forks," I said, in bewilderment. Her eyes flashed, and she looked at me scornfully.
"Then go, but don't ever speak to me again! Go!"
And she turned away. I caught her arm.
"Don't be unjust, Elsie!—don't be cruelly unjust!" I cried. What a fool I was; I knew she loved me, and yet I asked her not to be cruel and unjust. Can a woman or a man in love be anything else?
"How can I stay away?" I asked passionately, "when my brother's wife sends for me? And she is in black—poor Will must be dead!"
If he was dead, then Helen was free. I saw that and so did Elsie, and it hardened her more than ever, for she did not answer.
"Look then, Elsie, I am going, and you say I shall not speak to you again. You are cruel, very cruel—but I love you! And you shall speak to me—aye, and one day ask my pardon for doubting me. But even for you I cannot refuse this request of my own sister-in-law—who is ill, alone, in sorrow and trouble, in a strange land. For the present, good-by!"