In the Deemster's room the Governor was putting on his military overcoat. He was not too well satisfied with himself, and as the only means of self-justification he was nursing a dull anger against Stowell.
"Well, we can only go on with it. There's nothing else to do now. Unfortunate—damnably unfortunate!"
A few minutes later, Stowell, sitting at the table in wig and gown, heard the clash of steel outside (a company of the regiment quartered in the town were acting as a guard of honour) and saw through the window the Governor's big blue landau passing over the bridge that crossed the harbour.
Gell would be with Bessie in her cell by this time. She was guilty. He must see that she was guilty. What a shock! What a disillusionment! All his high-built faith in the girl wrecked and broken!
At last he unrobed and went down the empty staircase. On opening the door to the court-yard he was startled to see Gell pacing to and fro with downcast head among the remains of some tombs of old kings which lay about in the rank grass.
"Ah, is it you?" said Gell, looking up at the sound of Stowell's footsteps. "You were good to her, old fellow. I can't help thanking you."
Stowell mumbled some reply and then said he thought Gell would have been with Bessie.
"I daren't go," said Gell. "But Fenella has gone instead of me."
"Fenella?"
Stowell felt as if something were creeping between his skin and his flesh. Fenella and Bessie—those two and the dread secret!