that if she loved him he would pardon all. He was ready to do this at a less price; though he craved for her love, he was contented, at least for the present, with her solicitude. He had been accustomed to open hostility and undisguised antipathy. Now that he met with consideration and tenderness from her, he became docile, and a transformation began to be operated in his nature. Love him, she could not, but she felt that but for what he had done to George, she could regard him without repugnance. Pity might ripen into friendship. Into a deeper and more rich feeling it never could, for he had barred the way to this possibility by his dealing with De Witt.
She ventured occasionally to approach the subject, but it always produced such agitation in the manner of Rebow that she was obliged to desist from seeking explanation of the particulars which perplexed her. The slightest allusion to George De Witt troubled the master of Red Hall, made his face darken, and brought on an access of his old violence, from which he did not recover for a day or two.
Mrs. De Witt came to see him.
"Lawk a day!" she said; "what a job to find you in this predicament!"
He turned his whitened eyes on her, with a nervous twitch in the muscles and a tremour of the lips. "Well! What news?"
"News!" echoed the lady; "dear sackalive! who'd expect to find news in Mersea? you might as well drag for oysters in a horsepond."
He was satisfied, and let her talk on without attending to her.
A few days later, he called the charwoman to him as she was going to the pump.
"What is your name?"
"Susan Underwood. I'm a married woman, with three small children, and another on its way."
He fumbled in his pocket, and took out a crown.
"Any news?—from Mersea, I mean."
"I don't come from Mersea. Thank your honour all the same."
"But if there were news there it would get to Virley or Salcot, or wherever you live."
