id. He started a little. "Yes, I told,
because I was spiteful. I was the Imp! I've never been happy since I
told. Mr Tristram knows I've told, though he denies there's anything in
it. But he knows I've told. And still he's been kind to me." Her voice
shook.

"You told? Whom did you tell?"

"Never mind--or guess, if you can. I shan't tell him any more. I shan't
help him any more. I won't speak. I will not speak. I'm for Mr Tristram.
Thick and thin, I'm for Mr Tristram now." She came a step nearer to him.
"The man I told may try; but I don't think he can do much without
us--without me and without you. If we keep quiet, no, he can't do much.
Why should we tell? Is it our business? You suppressed it in the
Journal. Can't you suppress it now?"

"The Ivers?" he stammered.

"The Ivers! What's it to the Ivers compared to what it is to him? It'll
never come out. If it did--Oh, but it won't! It's life and death to him.
And isn't it right? Isn't it justice? He's her son. This thing's just a
horrible accident. Oh, if you'd heard him speak of Blent!" She paused a
moment, rubbing her hand across her eyes. Then she threw herself back
into her chair, asking again, "What are you going to do?"

He sat silent, thinking hard. It was not his business. Right and justice
seemed, in some sense at least, on Harry's side. But the law is the law.
And there were his friends the Ivers. In him there was no motive of
self-interest such as had swayed Major Duplay and made his action seem
rather ugly even to himself. Neeld owed loyalty and friendship; that was
all. Was it loyal, was it friendly, to utter no word while friends were
deceived? With what face would he greet Iver if the thing did come out
afterward? He debated with entire sincerity the point that Major Duplay
had invoked in defence of himself against his conscience. On the other
side was the strong sympathy which that story in the Journal had created
in him since first he read it, and realized its perverse little tragedy;
and there was the thought of Lady Tristram dying down at Blent.

The long silence was broken by neither of them. Neeld was weighing his
question; Mina had made her appeal and waited for an answer. The quiet
of the book-lined room (There were the yellowy-brown volumes from which
Mina had acquired her lore!) was broken by a new voice. They both
started to hear it, and turned alert faces to the window whence it came.
Harry Tristram, in flannels and a straw hat, stood lo