Winterborne took her other hand. "What has happened?" he
said.
"He has come."
There was a stillness as of death, till Winterborne asked, "You
mean this, Grace--that I am to help you to get away?"
"Yes," said she. "Appearance is no matter, when the reality is
right. I have said to myself I can trust you."
Giles knew from this that she did not suspect his treachery--if it
could be called such--earlier in the summer, when they met for the
last time as lovers; and in the intensity of his contrition for
that tender wrong, he determined to deserve her faith now at
least, and so wipe out that reproach from his conscience. "I'll
come at once," he said. "I'll light a lantern."
He unhooked a dark-lantern from a nail under the eaves and she did
not notice how his hand shook with the slight strain, or dream
that in making this offer he was taxing a convalescence which
could ill afford such self-sacrifice. The lantern was lit, and
they started.
CHAPTER XLI.
The first hundred yards of their course lay under motionless
trees, whose upper foliage began to hiss with falling drops of
rain.
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