Then Mrs. Rocliffe stepped forward.
"I will tell you," she said. "My brother is that mad wi' pain, he don't know what to think, and say, and do. As they was coming along together, loving-like, as man and wife, she chanced to slip and fall into the water, and Jonas, having his arm bad, couldn't help her out, as he was a-minded, and he runned accordin' here, to tell me, and I was just about sendin' my Samuel to find and help her."
"Matabel in the water—drowned!"
"Jonas did not say that. She falled in."
"Matabel—fell in!"
Iver looked from Mrs. Rocliffe towards Jonas. There was something in the Broom-Squire's look that did not satisfy him. It was not pain alone that so disturbed his face, and gave it such ghastly whiteness.
"Bideabout," said he, gravely, "I must and will have a proper explanation. I cannot take your sister's story. Speak to me yourself. After what I had seen between you and Matabel, I must necessarily feel uneasy. I must have a plain explanation from your own lips."
Jonas was silent; he looked furtively from side to side.
"I will be answered," said Iver, with vehemence.
"Who is to force me to speak?" asked the Broom-Squire, surlily.