... There's a p'int to consider,
M'riar. This man's her son--but it don't follow he knows whether she's
dead or living, any better than you or me. Who's to say he's not lying?
Besides, we should have had a letter to tell.... Who from?...
H'm--well--from ..." But Mo found the completion of this sentence
difficult.

No wonder! How could he reply:--"Her ladyship?" He may have been
convinced that Gwen would write, but how could he say so? The sister and
daughter, neither of whom were more than names to him, seemed out of the
question. Sister Nora would be sure to come with the news, some time.
But was she back from Scotland, where they knew she had gone to
convalesce?

Aunt M'riar looked the fact in the face. "No--we shouldn't have had no
letter, Mo. Not yet a while, at least. Daverill's a bad man, and lies.
But not when there's no advantage in it. He'd not go about to send me
word she was dead, except he knew."

"How should he know, more than we?"

"Don't you ask me about when I see him, not yet where, nor yet how, and
I'll tell you, Mo." She waited, as for a safe-conduct.

"Poor old M'riar!" said Mo pitifully. "I'll not witness-box you. Catch
me! No--no!--you shan't tell me nothing you don't like."

"He told me he should try to see his mother again. And I said to him if
he went there he would be taken, safe and certain. And he said not he,
because the Police were too sharp by half, and would take for granted he
would be afraid to go anigh the place again. He said he could always see
round them."

"I see what he was driving at. And you think he went."

"None so long ago, I should say. He never see her--not alive. I couldn't
say why, only I feel that was the way of it."

"When did you see him last?... No--old girl! I won't do that. It's
mean--after sayin' I wouldn't witness-box! Don't you tell me nothing."

"I won't grudge telling you that much, Mo. It's a tidy long time back
now. I couldn't say to a day. It was afore I wrote to him to keep away
from the Court for fear of the Police.... Yes--I did! Just after Mr.
Rowe came round that time, asking inquiries.... I _am_ his wife,
Mo--nothing can't alter it."

"I ain't blaming you, old girl."

"Well--it was then he said he'd go to Chorlton again. And he's been."

Silence again, and the sound of the children above. Then a footstep
without, recognised as Susan Burr's by its limp.

"She'll have to be told, Mo," said Aunt M'riar. "We've never had a
thought for poo