‚ÄúMary, Mary!‚Äù Colonel Cresswell‚Äôs voice broke suddenly in upon them. With a start of fear Mrs. ¬ÝCresswell rushed out into the hall and closed the door.
‚ÄúMary, has that Alwyn nigger been here this afternoon?‚Äù Mr. ¬ÝCresswell was coming upstairs, carrying his riding whip.
‚ÄúWhy, no!‚Äù she answered, lying instinctively before she quite realized what her lie meant. She hesitated. ‚ÄúThat is, I haven‚Äôt seen him. I must have nodded over my book,‚Äù‚ÅÝ‚Äîlooking toward the little veranda at the front of the upper hall, where her easy chair stood with her book. Then with an awful flash of enlightenment she realized what her lie might mean, and her heart paused.
Cresswell strode up.
‚ÄúI saw him come up‚ÅÝ‚Äîhe must have entered. He‚Äôs nowhere downstairs,‚Äù he wavered and scowled. ‚ÄúHave you been in your sitting-room?‚Äù And then, not waiting for a reply, he strode to the door.
“But the damned scoundrel wouldn’t dare!”
He deliberately placed his hand in his right-hand hip-pocket and threw open the door.
Mary Cresswell stood frozen. The full horror of the thing burst upon her. Her own silly misapprehension, the infatuation of Alwyn for Zora, her thoughtless‚ÅÝ‚Äîno, vindictive‚ÅÝ‚Äîbetrayal of him to something worse than death. She listened for the crack of doom. She heard a bird singing far down in the swamp; she heard the soft raising of a window and the closing of a door. And then‚ÅÝ‚Äîgreat God in heaven! must she live forever in this agony?‚ÅÝ‚Äîand then, she heard the door bang and Mr. ¬ÝCresswell‚Äôs gruff voice‚ÅÝ‚Äî
‚ÄúWell, where is he?‚ÅÝ‚Äîhe isn‚Äôt in there!‚Äù