He said so laughingly himself. He
was in a certain danger. Her place was by his side. And let it be
remembered that, before his absolute refusal to answer her crucial
question about his prime motive for the marriage, Rachel had grown
rather to like that place.
They had been strolling quite apart, though chatting amiably. Rachel had
not dreamt of putting her hand within his arm, as she had sometimes done
towards the end before their quarrel. Yet she did it again now, the
very moment his quicker vision descried the cyclist in the drive.
"I hope they are not going to run me in to-night," he said. "If they do,
I shall run _them_ in for riding without a light. So it's Langholm!
Well, Langholm, put salt on him yet?"
"On whom?"
"Your murderer, of course."
"I have his confession in my pocket."
It was the first time that Rachel had known her husband taken visibly
aback.
"Good God!" he cried. "Then you don't think it's me any longer?"
"I know it is not. Nevertheless, Mrs. Steel must prepare for a shock."
Rachel was shocked. But her grief and horror, though both were real and
poignant, were swept away for that hour at least by the full tide of her
joy.
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