To her own dismay, Marcia found herself sobbing--against
her will.
"I'm not against you. Indeed--indeed--I'm not against you! You'll see. I'll
go again to Mr. Newbury--I promise you! He's not hard--he's not cruel--he's
not!..."
"Hush!" said Mrs. Berts, suddenly, springing forward--"there he is!" And
trembling all over, she pointed to the figure of her husband, standing just
outside the window and looking in upon them. Thunder had been rumbling
round the house during the whole of this scene, and now the rain had
begun. It beat on the bare grizzled head of John Betts, and upon his
weather-beaten cheeks and short beard.
His expression sent a shudder through Marcia. He seemed to be looking at
them--and yet not conscious of them; his tired eyes met hers, and made no
sign. With a slight puzzled gesture he turned away, back into the pelting
rain, his shoulders bent, his step faltering and slow.
"Oh! go after him!" said Marcia, imploringly. "Don't trouble about me! I'll
find the motor. Go! Take my cloak!" She would have wrapped it round Mrs.
Betts and pushed her to the door. But the woman stopped her.
"No good. He wouldn't listen to me. I'll get one of the men to bring him
in.
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