"Alletha Rye."
With a sadden movement, looking like one of relief, Bede Greatorex dropped his hand and leaned back in his chair. It was as if some kind of rest had come to him.
"Why should you bring in Alletha Rye's name? Do you suspect her?"
"I'm not clear that I do; I'm not clear that I don't. Anyhow, I think she stands a chance of getting accused of it, Mr. Bede Greatorex."
"Better accuse her than Pitman," said Bede, who seemed to be again speaking out of his uncomfortable dream.
Mr. Butterby, inwardly wondering at various matters and not just yet able to make them meet in his official mind, rose to conclude the interview. A loud bell was ringing upstairs; most probably the announcement of dinner.
"Just a parting word, sir. What I chiefly stepped in to say, was this. So long as the case rested in my hands, and Mr. Godfrey Pitman was supposed to have finally disappeared from the world, I was willing to oblige you, and let it, and him, and the world be. But from the moment that the affair shall be stirred publicly, in short, that action is forced upon me by others, I shall take it up again. Counsellor Ollivera's case belongs of right to me, and must be mine to the end."
With a civil goodnight, Mr. Butterby departed, leaving Bede Greatorex to his thoughts and reveries. More unhappy ones have rarely been entertained in this world. Men cannot strive against fate forever, and the battle had well nigh warn him out. It almost seemed that he could struggle no longer, that he had no power of resistance left within him. Mind and body were alike weary; the spirit fainted, the heart was sick. Life had long been a burden to Bede Greatorex, but never did its weight lie heavier than tonight in its refined and exquisite pain.
He had to bear it alone, you see. To lock the miserable secret, whatever might be its precise nature, and whoever might have been guilty, within his own bosom. Could he but have spoken of it to another, its anguish had been less keen; for, when once a great trouble can be imparted--be it of grief, or apprehension, or remorse; be it connected with ourselves, or (worse) one very near and dear to us--it is lightened of half its sting.
But that relief was denied to Bede Greatorex.