'But for him I should not be here now.'
'Why so?'
Then Winefred related her story. She told how that she had overheard the directions given by the officer of the coastguard to his man, how that, knowing that the smugglers were to be trapped, she had done her utmost to caution them and save them from plunging into the snare.
'You hear this!' exclaimed Jane in a tone of triumph, springing from her chair, and going before Rattenbury. 'You hear this! you—you who dared to say that she had betrayed you. She betray! She has, on the contrary, been the saving of your band. I am glad that you lie thus, stricken down, judged by God for what you said.'
'Mother,' pleaded Winefred, drawing the excited woman back to her seat, 'do not speak to him in that fashion. Listen to the remainder of my story.'
'You do not know what he has done,' said Mrs. Marley. 'He came here last night, and because the guard were out, and his plans known, he would have it that you had betrayed him, and he drove me from the house. He lied when he said that you had called the preventive men about him, and now God has beaten him to the ground for saying it.' Looking again at the man on the bed, she cast at him, 'You—listen to what follows.'
Winefred continued her story to the fall of the rock, without interruption from her mother, who, however, at times, nervously, sympathetically gripped her hands, and throughout with eager eyes looked into the face of her child, trembling and breathless to hear the sequel.
'And then?' she asked, when Winefred paused.
'Well, mother, after Jack Rattenbury left, so he has told me, he walked along the beach, but he felt uneasy at having left me behind and alone, partly on account of the gaugers being about, and angry at having lost their prey, and partly because of the crumbling and fall of the rock; so when he got with the rest of the men opposite the Chesil Bank, he would not cross over with them, but turned back and retraced his steps till he came to the place where the rift had been formed. But by this time it was quite dark, for the moon was down. On reaching the chasm he could see no lantern, nor hear a sound; he was afraid to call out lest he should draw attention from the men who were about on the cliffs, and were drawing together as if they had a scent. Then he went along the beach, but saw nothing, and he did not well know what to do. He could not ascend by the path lest he should run into the arms of the coastguard, so he turned and went back again. He thought he heard voices aloft, but was not sure. He did not like to go home—I mean to Beer—without some knowledge of what had happened to me.'