In the brier bowl before his face the tobacco glowed more brightly as Rowland drew hard.
"Tell me, please," repeated Margaret. "Are they here?"
The pipe left the man's mouth. The great bushy head nodded reluctant corroboration.
"Yes," he said.
"You—saw them?"
Again the man's head spoke an affirmative. "It's perhaps as well, after all, for you to know." One hand indicated the foot of the rise before them. "They waylaid Mueller there."
"And you—"
"It was all over in a second." Puff, puff. "After all he—Margaret!"
"Don't mind me. I was thinking of baby. The hideous suggestion!"
"Margaret!" He held her tight, so tight he could feel the quiver of her body against his, the involuntary catch of her breath. "Forgive me, Margaret."