"You had—WHAT?"
"I was much alarmed; I thought I might have to stay in the wood until morning, and I could only pray to God to protect me: I knew that harm would not come to me then. It must have been a quarter of an hour in all: so you see Mr. Heneage did not do it in the heat of passion, in running after him: he must have done it deliberately."
"I don't care," she repeated to herself, in a sort of defiant voice; "I know George Heneage did not wilfully shoot Philip King. If he did do it, it was an accident; but I don't believe he did."
"If he did not, why did he hide in the wood, and look as if he had done something wrong, Selina? Why did he not go boldly up, and see what was amiss with Philip King, as Mr. Edwin Barley did?"
"There is no accounting for what people do in these moments of confusion and terror: some act in one way, some in another," she said, slowly. "Anne, I don't like to speak out openly to you—what I fear and what I don't fear. It was imperative upon George Heneage to hasten home—and he may not have believed that Philip King was really dead."
"But, Selina——"
"Go! go! lie down there," she said, drawing me to the distant sofa, and pushing me on it, with the pillow over my head. "You are asleep, mind! He might think I had been tutoring you."
So sudden and unexpected was the movement, I could only obey, and lie still. Selina unbolted the door, and was back in her seat before Mr. Edwin Barley entered the room.
"Are you coming down to dinner, Selina?"
"Dinner! It is well for you that you can eat it," was her answer. "You must dine without me to-day—those who dine at all. Now, don't disturb that sleeping child, Mr. Barley! I was just going to send her to bed."