“Yes. If you will intrust this affair to me, I will promise to bring you back your—husband.”
“Bring me back my child,” said she.
“Fenella! your husband! you will want to have him back!”
“I have told you I am tired,” said she coldly. “I have borne a great deal, and——” she paused.
“There is something on your mind,” said he.
“His hands!” she said. She seemed to shrink visibly. She shuddered. “The blood! I was unconscious then, I think—and it is only now—now—— But his hands! and his face! Great Heavens, how he held him. He choked him! It was as if he was over there now,” staring wildly at the far part of the room. “His fingers closed round his throat, and there was such a sound—a gurgle—Heaven, what a sound! and then he stabbed, and stabbed, and stabbed—he was mad. Oh!” with a long-drawn, piercing sigh, “I shall go mad if I think of it!”
“Then don’t think,” said Jacynth. He caught hold of her arm and shook her sharply.
“Whenever I see him I see blood,” said she, still trembling.
“Never mind him, think of your child,” said he, with a desire to rouse her. “Am I to start now? and when I find him, what message am I to give him from his mother?”
He had roused her indeed. “A message!” she said. The old, sad, dreadful fear in her face died away. Hope lit it into a lovely life. “A message to Ronny!” she cried.