“Do I?” she answered, and wondered if the merciful Father above would ever, ever, ever let this bitter hour pass by.
“No, it's worry, Rotha, that's it; you're not well, that's the truth.”
Willy would have been satisfied to let the explanation resolve itself into this, but Rotha broke silence, saying, “What if it were not good news—”
The words were choking her, and she stopped.
“Not good news—what news?” asked Willy, half muttering the girl's words in a bewildered way.
“The news that the constables have gone.”
“Gone! What is it? What do you mean, Rotha?”
“What if the constables have gone,” said the girl, struggling with her emotion, “only because—what if they have gone—because—because Ralph is taken.”
“Taken! Where? What are you thinking of?”
“And what if Ralph is to be charged, not with treason—no, but with—with murder? Oh, Willy!” the girl cried in her distress, throwing away all disguise, “it is true, true; it is true.”