She could not tell, and she knew she could not.
"I can't bear to hear him spoken of, my lord," she said. "He—we look upon him as my poor boy's murderer," she broke off, with a sob; "and it is not likely that I could."
Not very logical; but Lord Hartledon allowed for confusion of ideas following on distress of mind.
"I don't like to speak about him any more than you can like to hear," he said kindly. "Indeed I am sorry to have grieved you; but if the man is in London, and can be traced—"
"In London!" she interrupted.
"He was in London last autumn, as I believe—living there."
An expression of relief passed over her features that was quite perceptible to Lord Hartledon.
"I should not like to hear of his coming near us," she sighed, dropping her voice to a whisper. "London: that's pretty far off."
"I suppose you are anxious to bring him to justice, Mrs. Gum?"
"No, sir, not now; neither me nor Gum," shaking her head. "Time was, sir—my lord—that I'd have walked barefoot to see him hanged; but the years have gone by; and if sorrow's not dead, it's less keen, and we'd be thankful to let the past rest in peace. Oh, my lord, don't rake him up again!"