"I have to-day tried to atone for my past offences," was the stern old man's hoarse reply.
"And you have succeeded, Sir Hugh," declared Trendall. "Indeed you have!"
Shortly afterwards the excitement among the crowd waiting outside in the light of the head-lamps of the motor-cars was increased by the appearance of the doctor, escorted by two Maldon police officers in plain clothes. They mounted a police car, and were driven away down the road, while into a second car the tenant of The Yews and his Italian manservant were placed under escort, and also driven away.
The station-fly, in which Bailey had driven from Southminster, conveyed away Fetherston, Trendall, Sir Hugh, and Enid, while Deacon, with two men, was left in charge of the house of secrets.
It was past one o'clock in the morning when Walter Fetherston stood alone with Enid in the pretty drawing-room in Hill Street.
They stood together upon the vieux rose hearthrug, his hand was upon her shoulder, his deep, earnest gaze fixed upon hers. In her splendid eyes the love light showed. They had both admired each other intensely from their first meeting, and had become very good and staunch friends. Walter Fetherston had only once spoken of the passion that had constantly consumed his heart—when they were by the blue sea at Biarritz. He loved her—loved her with the whole strength of his being—and yet, ah! try how he would, he could never put aside the dark cloud of suspicion which, as the days went by, became more and more impenetrable.
Sweet-faced, frank, and open, she stood, the ideal of the English outdoor girl, merry, quick-witted, and athletic. And yet, after the stress of war, she had sacrificed all that she held most dear in order to become the friend of Weirmarsh. Why?
"Enid," he said at last, his tender hand still upon her shoulder, "why did you not tell me your true position? You were working in the same direction, with the same strong motive of patriotism, as myself!"
She was silent, very pale, and very serious.
"I feared to tell you, Walter," she faltered. "How could I possibly reveal to you the truth when I knew you were aware how my stepfather had unconsciously betrayed his friends? You judged us both as undesirables, therefore any attempt at explanation would, I know, only aggravate our offence in your eyes. Ah! you do not know how intensely I have suffered! How bitter it all was! I knew the reason you followed us to France—to watch and confirm your suspicions."