But
otherwise Lady Coryston made no sign; and her daughter dared not go to her
without permission.
Why did no letter come for her, no reply? She sat at her open windows for a
time, watching the front approaches, and looking out into a drizzling rain
which veiled the afternoon. When it ceased she went out--restlessly--to the
East Wood--the wood where they had broken it off. She lay down with her
face against the log--a prone white figure, among the fern. The buried
ring--almost within reach of her hand--seemed to call to her like a living
thing. No!--let it rest.
If it was God's will that she should go back to Edward, she would make him
a good wife. But her fear, her shrinking, was all there still. She prayed;
but she did not know for what.
Meanwhile at Redcross Farm, the Coroner was holding his inquiry. The facts
were simple, the public sympathy and horror profound. Newbury and Lord
William had given their evidence amid a deep and, in many quarters, hostile
silence. The old man, parchment-pale, but of an unshaken dignity, gave a
full account of the efforts--many and vain--that had been made both by
himself and his son to find Betts congenial work in another sphere and to
persuade him to accept it.
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