Mrs. Jenwyn ceased speaking, and Drelincourt was slow to break the silence which ensued.
At length he said: "You have succeeded in astonishing me more, Mrs. Jenwyn, than I was ever astonished before. But that is a point on which I will not expatiate at present. May I take it that you never said anything to my poor sister about what you had witnessed in my wife's bed room?"
"Not a hint nor a syllable about it ever passed my lips to her."
"So that she lived and died in utter ignorance of that terrible morning's work?"
Mrs. Jenwyn bowed affirmatively.
"From the bottom of my heart, madam, I thank you for your wise reticence. While it would have benefited nobody to have revealed what you knew to Anna, it would have distressed her infinitely, and, in all probability, would have tended to shorten her life. For her sake I shall always hold myself your debtor. But tell me this, please. In case Gumley, after his arrest twenty years ago, had been brought to trial and found guilty, as he has been now, what action would have been taken by you? Or should you have taken any at all?"
"I should have done at that time precisely what I have done today: I should have sought an interview with you, and have revealed to you everything that was known to me."
It was evident to Drelincourt that Mrs. Jenwyn had been actuated by precisely the same motives that had prevailed with himself.
To the widow it seemed that the time had now come when she might ask a question on her own account.
"And now, sir, that I have told you all this," she said, "will you kindly inform me, in return, what step it will be needful for me to take."