And he, her lawful husband, dared not go to her and console her! Accursed—all of them— Enschede, Ruth, and himself. She did not resist him, she could not. The weather's been foul enough for the last fortnight, but I've never turned my back upon it. “He must never know,” she would whisper to herself, “he must never know. Please to let me go there. I meant to lie to you. There were moments when she thought of turning upon this man and talking to him. The funeral, it has just been said, took place on that day. But before the child could be committed to her care, it was wrested from the carpenter by Rowland. Why was she noting things like this? Capes seemed selfpossessed and elaborately genial and commonplace, but she knew him to be nervous by a little occasional clumsiness, by the faintest shadow of vulgarity in the urgency of his hospitality. ‘And I don’t mind telling you it goes agin’ the grain with me to let you go free and all, missie.
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