“Who wants me?” he asked, almost roughly, and then he saw a tall, dark woman standing at the top of the staircase.

“Mrs. Wilder,” he said in surprise, and she made a little imperious movement with her hand.

“I did not call your servant, I came up, because I wanted to find you alone.  You are alone?”

“Certainly, I am alone.”

“May I come in?”

Heath held the door open for her to pass, and she walked in, looking around the darkening room with hard, curious eyes.

She took the chair he gave her, in silence, and sat down near the writing-table, and, feeling that she would speak after a time, Heath took his own place again and waited.

“I hardly know where to begin,” she said, always speaking in the same low, intent voice.  “Do you recall the evening of the twenty-ninth?”

An odd spasm caught Heath’s face, and he paused for a moment before he answered.

“I do recall it.”

“Perhaps you remember seeing me?  I was riding along the road when I first passed you, and you were walking.”

“I remember that I did pass you then, and also that I saw you later.”

Heath’s sombre eyes were on her face, and his fingers touched a gold cross that hung from his watch-chain.

“You passed me, and you passed Absalom, the Christian boy, and you have been questioned about Absalom.”

“I have,” he said heavily.  “Why do you ask?”

Mrs. Wilder took a quick breath.

“Because I am afraid that you may be asked again.  You understand, Mr. Heath, that I know it was the merest chance that brought you there that evening, but, as you were there, and as Mr. Hartley has got it into his head that you know something more than you have told him, I beg of you to bear in mind that if you mention my name you may get me into serious trouble.  You would not do that willingly, I think?”

“I certainly would not.  What motive took you there is a question for your own conscience.  It is not for me to press that question, Mrs. Wilder.”

She pressed her lips together tightly.

“I went there to see an old friend who was in great trouble.”

“And yet you have to keep it secret?”

“Haven’t we all our secrets, Mr. Heath?” Her voice was raised a little.  “Will you pledge me your solemn word to keep this knowledge from anyone who asks?” She put her elbows on the table and drew closer to him.

“I will respect your confidence,” he said slowly.  “But is it likely that Hartley will ask me?”

Mrs. Wilder made a gesture of denial.

“I think not, but who can tell?  This thing has been like lead on my mind and will not let me rest.  Oh, Mr. Heath, if you knew what I have already paid, you would be sorry for me.”

“I am sorry,” he said gently.  “More sorry for you than you can tell.  You, too, saw Absalom, and spoke to him?”

“He has nothing to do with what I came here about,”—­her tone grew impatient.  “I only wanted to make sure that I was safe with you.  It was no little thing that drove me to come.  I am a proud woman, Mr. Heath, and I do not usually ask favours, yet I ask you now—­”