“Then do believe it,” she said.
“I cannot! I cannot!”
“You have his letter,” she replied. And she was going to say more, she was going to prove that she could undertake the matter with safety, when the chaise began to slacken speed, and she cut her reasoning short. “You will let me do it?” she said, laying her hand on his sleeve.
“No, no!”
“You have only to draw them off.”
“I shall not!” he cried, almost savagely. “I shall not! Do you think I am a villain? Do you think I care nothing what happens——”
The jerk caused by the chaise coming to a stand before the inn cut his words short. Clyne thrust out his head.
“Any news?” he asked eagerly. “Has anything been heard?”
Mr. Sutton, who had been on the watch for their arrival, came forward to the chaise door. He answered Clyne, but his eyes, looking beyond his patron, sought Henrietta’s in modest deprecation; much as the dog which is not assured of its reception seeks, yet deprecates its master’s glance.
“No,” he said, “none. I am sorry for it. Nadin has not yet returned, nor Bishop, though we are expecting both.”