Had she?
* * * * *
HOW HAD THAT QUARREL ENDED?
This awful question shot into my mind like an arrow, and I sat straight up in bed with a start.
How, indeed?
I shuddered, but unflinchingly faced an awful possibility.
If it were indeed so, it was my duty to leave no stone unturned to discover and expose the awful truth. Painful as it would be, I must not shrink.
A second terrible question came to me. If my suspicion were correct, how much did Jane know or guess? Jane had been most strange and reserved. I remembered how she had run down to meet the wretched man that first morning, when we were there; I remembered her voice, rather hurried, saying, 'Arthur! Mother and dad are upstairs. Come in here,' and how she took him into the dining-room alone.
Did Jane know all? Or did she only suspect? I could scarcely believe that she would wish to shield her husband's murderer, if he were that. Yet…. why had she told me that she had seen the accident herself? If, indeed, my terrible suspicion were justified, and if Jane was in the secret, it seemed to point to a graver condition of things than I had supposed. No girl would lie to shield her husband's murderer unless … unless she was much fonder of him than a married woman has any right to be.
I resolved quickly, as I always do. First, I must save my child from this awful man.