She raised herself, peering eagerly at her companion.
"Married whom?" said Barron, utterly mystified, but affected himself, involuntarily, by the excitement of his strange companion.
"Why—Miss Alice!" she said gasping.
"Why should he marry her?"
Mrs. Sabin tried to control herself. "I'm not to talk about that—I know I'm not. But they give me my money for fifteen year—and then they stopped giving it—three year ago. I suppose they thought I'd never be back here again. But John's my flesh and blood, all the same. I made Mr. Sabin write for me to Sir Ralph. But there came a lawyer's letter and fifty pounds—and that was to be the last, they said. So when Mr. Sabin died, I said I'd come over and see for myself. But I'm ill—you see—and John's a fool—and I must find some one as 'ull tell me what to do. If you're a gentleman living here"—she peered into his face—"perhaps you'll tell me? Lady Fox-Wilton's left comfortable, I know. Why shouldn't she do what's handsome? Perhaps you'll give me a word of advice, sir? But you mustn't tell!—not a word to anybody. Perhaps they'll be for putting me in prison?"
She put her finger to her mouth; and then once more she bent forward, passionately scrutinizing the two people in the distance. Barron had grown white.
"If you want my advice you must try and tell me plainly what all this means," he said, sternly.
She looked at him—with a mad expression flickering between doubt and desire.
"Then you must shut the door, sir," she said at last. Yet as he moved to do so, she bent forward once more to look intently at the couple outside.
"And what did they tell me that lie for?" she repeated, in a tone half perplexed, half resentful. Then she turned peremptorily to Barron.