She took no notice of the mocking defiance of his tone, the recklessness of his manner with which he tried to cover the abject despair that was mastering him; but went on, gathering courage as she proceeded,—
“You ought to leave Kingslough at once. Scott can be saved without you; and Mrs. Brady’s name should be kept out of this miserable affair altogether.”
“She is innocent,” he said. “Tell me any form of words of I can employ, sufficiently strong to assure you of that, and I will use them.”
Instinctively Grace drew back from the subject. “I am very certain she is innocent,” she replied. “I require no assurance on that point from any one.”
“I beg your pardon and hers,” he answered; more humbly than he had yet spoken. “You are quite right, Miss Moffat,” he continued, after a moment’s pause. “If I stay here I may not be able to save my own life. If I go I shall spare her—perhaps.”
“There is no perhaps in it. The greatest kindness you can do Mrs. Brady is to leave here at once.”
“Leave, to be brought back,” he said. “Fly, to make my return all the worse?”
“There is no occasion for you to be brought back,” she urged. “There is plenty of time for you to make your way to some country where you may be safe for the rest of your life.”
“There is no time,” he said; “once Scott’s innocence is declared, the law will be on my track like a bloodhound.”
“I have thought it all over,” she persisted, “Scott’s trial can, I am persuaded, be put off. Up to the present time, it may be supposed, no one knows anything of this except yourself and Mrs. Brady. Mrs. Brady is too ill to give evidence. Weeks must elapse before she can be questioned. Make use of those weeks. Go away as if for a visit, and stay away.”