THE SILVER FOX 181 



more real comprehension of what he might 

 suffer on her behalf than she had of the 

 flames of hell. She thought first of herself, 

 accused in public, accused in private ; she 

 put her hands over her face and said she 

 would go away and never come back to 

 French's Court, where the people spent 

 their time in spying and telling these foul, 

 infernal lies. Hughie would believe her 

 anyhow. She would tell him all about it. 

 It wasn't so very much, after all, and he 

 wasn't a bit strait-laced. She took her 

 hands from her face and saw the motionless 

 body flung in the heathery grass, the 

 vacant brow, the strangeness, the terrific 

 pallor. She stood as people stand when the 

 sudden inrush of an idea overwhelms the 

 physical part of them ; it had come to her 

 that it might be too late to tell Hughie 

 about it. It sank into her soul, carrying 

 with it the remembrance of her husband 

 standing by the hall door with the letter 

 in his hand. He had read it before he 

 started; he had only spoken to her once 



