But it came at last—­the fair and gracious morning of another day came to Rotha even as it always has come to the weary watcher, even as it always will come to the heartsore and heavy-laden, however long and black the night.

The girl rose at daybreak, and then she began to review the late turn of events from a practical standpoint.

Assuming the woman’s word to be true, in what respect was the prospect different for Mrs. Garth’s disclosure?  Rotha had to confess to herself that it was widely different.  When she told Willy that she could give up Ralph, were he a thousand times her brother, to such a death of sacrifice as he had pictured, she had not conceived of a death that would be the penalty of murder.  That Ralph would be innocent of the crime could not lessen the horror of such an end.  Then there was the certainty that conviction on such a charge would include the seizure of the property.  Rotha dwelt but little on the chances of an innocent man’s acquittal.  The law was to her uninformed mind not an agent of justice, but an instrument of punishment, and to be apprehended was to be condemned.

Ralph must be kept out of the grip of the law.  Yes, that was beyond question.  Whether the woman’s words were true or false, the issues were now too serious to be played with.

She had sent her father in pursuit of Ralph, and the effect of what he would tell of the forthcoming eviction might influence Ralph to adopt a course that would be imprudent, even dangerous—­nay, even fatal, in the light of the more recent disclosure.

What had she done?  God alone could say what would come of it.

But perhaps her father could still be overtaken and brought back.  Yet who was to do it?  She herself was a woman, doomed as such to sit at her poor little wheel, to lie here like an old mastiff or its weak tottering whelp, while Ralph was walking—­perhaps at her bidding—­to his death.

She would tell Willy, and urge him to go in pursuit of Sim.  Yet, no, that was not possible.  She would have to confess that she had acted against his wish, and that he had been right while she had been wrong.  Even that humiliation was as nothing in the face of the disaster that she foresaw:  but Willy and Sim!—­Rotha shuddered as she reflected how little the two names even could go together.

The morning was growing apace, and still Rotha’s perplexity increased.  She went downstairs and made breakfast with an absent mind.

The farm people came and went; they spoke, and she answered; but all was as a dream, except only the one grim reality that lay on her mind.

She was being driven to despair.  It was far on towards midday, and she was alone; still no answer came to her question.  She threw herself on the settle, and buried her face in her hands.  She was in too much agony to weep.  What had she done?  What could she do?

When she lifted her eyes, Liza Branthwaite was beside her, looking amazed and even frightened.