As her carriage dipped into the hill going down to the station she saw Stowell coming up from the bridge with rapid strides. Something told her that, having heard the news, he was going to Government House to protest. But what was the good of going now? Useless! Worse than useless!
One glance she got of his face before she dropped her own. It was whiter and thinner than before, as if from sleepless nights and suffering. She wanted to stop; she wanted to go on; she did not know what she wanted.
At the next moment her coachman, who had seen nothing of Stowell, being occupied with the difficulties of the hill, had swept into the station-yard.
When she got out of the carriage her heart was burning with the pangs of mingled love and rage.
"If that girl dies in prison there shall never be anything between us—never," she thought.
But deep in her heart, almost unknown to herself, there was a still more poignant cry,
"He does not care for me—he cannot."
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
THE MAN AND THE LAW
When Stowell reached Government House he found the Governor in the garden, bareheaded and smoking a cigar of which he was obviously trying to preserve the ash, while he watched his gardener at his work of repairing the ravages of last night's storm among the flower-beds.