Thus he raved hour after hour; and the two sat and listened, often in dead silence; but at last there rose in Joan Lowrie's face a look of such intense and hopeless pain, that Anice spoke.
"Joan! my poor Joan!" she said.
Joan's head sank down upon her hands.
"I mun go away fro' Riggan," she whispered. "I mun go away afore he knows. Theer's no help fur me."
"No help?" repeated Anice after her.
She did not understand.
"Theer's none," said Joan. "Dunnot yo' see as ony place wheer he is con be no place fur me? I thowt—I thowt the trouble wur aw on my side, but it is na. Do yo' think I'd stay an' let him do hissen a wrong?"
Anice wrung her hands together.
"A wrong?" she cried. "Not a wrong, Joan—I cannot let you call it that."
"It would na be nowt else. Am I fit wife fur a gentlemon? Nay, my work's done when the danger's ower. If he wakes to know th' leet o' day to-morrow morning, it's done then."
"You do not mean," said Anice, "that you will leave us?"
"I conna stay i' Riggan; I mun go away."
Toward morning Derrick became quieter. He muttered less and less until his voice died away altogether, and he sank into a profound slumber. Grace, coming in and finding him sleeping, turned to Joan with a look of intense relief.
"The worst is over," he said; "now we may hope for the best."
"Ay," Joan answered, quietly, "th' worst is ower—fur him."
