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"Cannot that lass's father earn aught without keeping yon sulking waistrel about him?" asked the old dalesman one day. It was the first time he had spoken of Wilson since the threatened ducking. Being told of Wilson's violence to Rotha, he only said, "It's an old saying, 'A blate cat makes a proud mouse." Angus was never heard to speak of Wilson again.
The church bells were still ringing over the darkened town. Rotha was happy in her love; Heaven be with her and bless her! As for himself, it was a part of the curse that lay on him that her face should haunt his dreams, that her voice should come to him in his sleep, and that "Rotha, Rotha," should rise in sobs to his lips in the weary watches of the night.
With a frank voice and face, with luminous eyes in which there was neither fear nor shame, Rotha answered, "Yes, I could love him; I think I do so now." She spoke to Ralph as she might have spoken to a father whom she reverenced, and from whom no secret of her soul should be hid. He heard her in silence.
Garth, sobered somewhat by rage which was no longer assumed but real, pushed them aside and strode down the lane. Rotha turned away from the crowd and walked towards Shoulthwaite. Before her, at fifty paces, the blacksmith tramped doggedly on, with head towards the ground. Drunk, mad, devilish as at this moment he might be, Rotha felt an impulse to overtake him.
That was a lie which had tried a moment ago to steal into her mind a cruel, shameless lie. Ralph was as innocent of murder as she was. No purer soul ever lived on earth; God knew it was the truth. Hark! what cry was that which was borne to her through the silent night? Was it not a horse's neigh? Rotha shuddered, and leaned out of the window. It was gone. The reign of silence was unbroken.
Garth's dress in the agony of her appeal. "You have a son, too. Think of him standing where they stand, an innocent man." Rotha had dropped to her knees in the road, still clinging to Mrs. Garth's dress. "What's all this to me, girl? Let go yer hod, do you hear? Will ye let go? What wad I know about Wilson nowt." "It's a lie," cried Rotha, starting to her feet.
The girl's face was as tender as a Madonna's. "Maybe I am a little bit out of sorts to-day; maybe so. I've felt daizt this last week end; I have, somehow." Rotha left him a minute afterwards. Continuing her journey, she drew the bunch of keys from under her cloak and examined them. They were the same that she had found attached to Wilson's trunk on the night of her own and Mrs.
"And even so," said Rotha, stepping back a pace and throwing up her head, while her hands were clinched convulsively, "and even so," she repeated. "Death comes to all; it will come to him among the rest, and how could he die better? If he were a thousand times my brother, I could give him up to such a death." "Rotha, my darling," cried Willy, throwing his arms about her, "I am ashamed.
Mrs. Garth stooped to look closely at a huge stone that lay by the highway. Then she picked up a smaller stone and seemed to rub it on the larger one, as if she wished to remove a scratch or stain. Rotha was sure now. Mrs. Garth stood on the very spot where the crime was said to have been committed. This woman, then, and her son were at the heart of the mystery. It was even as she had thought.
How fresh and fair the young face looked, tinged, as it was at this moment, too, with a conscious blush! Rotha had tried to lift her eyes as Willy entered. She intended to meet his glance with a smile. She wished to catch the significance of his expression. But the lids were heavier than lead that kept her gaze fixed on the "rock" and flax below her.
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