ywright
knows to his cost.

Widow Thrale had been talking with Elizabeth-next-door when the mare
stopped, disappointed at the short run. She heard the arrival, and came
out to find that her ladyship had preceded her into the house. Tom
Kettering, having communicated this, stooped down from his elevation to
add in confidence:--"Her ladyship's not looking her best, this short
while past. You have an eye to her, mistress. Asking pardon!" It was a
concession to speech, on Tom's part, and he seemed determined it should
go no farther, for he made a whip-flick tell the mare to walk up and
down, and forget the grass rim she had noticed on the footpath. Mrs.
Thrale hurried into the house. She, too, had seen how white Gwen was
looking, before she started to go to Dr. Nash.

She met her coming from the bedroom, whiter still this time. Her
exclamation:--"Dearie me, my lady, how!..." was stopped by:--"It is not
illness, Mrs. Thrale. I am perfectly well," said with self-command,
though with a visible effort to achieve it. But it was clear that the
thing that was not illness was a serious thing.

"I was afraid for your ladyship," said Mrs. Thrale. And she remained
uneasy visibly.

"I see she is very sound asleep. Will she remain so for awhile?... Has
not been sleeping at night, did you say? That explains it.... No, I
won't take anything, thank you!... Yes, I will. I'll have some water. I
see it on the dresser. That's plenty--thanks!" Thus Gwen's part of what
followed. She moistened her lips, and speech was easier to her. They had
been so dry and hot. She continued, feeling that the moment had
come:--"I want your help, Mrs. Thrale. I have something I must tell you
about Mrs. Prichard."

The convict, nearly forgotten since last year, and of course never
revived for Widow Thrale, suddenly leaped into her mind out of the past,
and menaced evil to her ideal of Mrs. Prichard. She was on her defence
directly. "Nay, then--if it is bad, 'tis no fault of the dear old
soul's. That I be mortal sure of!"

"Fault of _hers_. No, indeed! It is something I have to tell her. And to
tell you." This was the first real attempt to hint at her hearer's
personal concern in the something. Would it reach her mind?

Scarcely. To judge by her puzzled eyes fixed on Gwen, and the grave
concern of her face, her heart was rich with ready sympathy for whoever
should suffer by this unknown thing, but without a clue to its near
connection with herself. "Will i