"But he hasn't kept a curate. He never will keep a curate. And if
he does he'll choose a man with a wife and seven children--no, he'll
choose no children. The wife mustn't have a chance of dying."

"Gwenda--do you think anybody _knows?_ They did, you know--before, and
it was awful."

"Nobody knows this time, except Papa and Steven Rowcliffe and you and
me."

"I wish I didn't. I wish you hadn't told me."

"You _had_ to know or I wouldn't have told you. Do you think Steven
Rowcliffe would have told _me----_"

"How could he? It was awful of him."

"He could because he isn't a coward or a fool and he knew that I'm not
a coward or a fool either. He thought Ally had nobody but me. She'll
have nobody but you when I'm gone. You mustn't let her see you think
her awful. You mustn't _think_ it. She isn't. She's as good as gold.
Steven Rowcliffe said so. If she wasn't, Molly, I wouldn't ask you to
help her--with him."

"Gwenda, you mustn't put it all on me. I'd do anything for poor Ally,
but I _can't_ make him marry her if he doesn't want to."

"I think Ally can make him want to, if she gets a chance. You've only
got to stick to her and see her through. You'll have to ask him here,
you know. _She_ can't. And you'll have to keep Papa off her. If you're
not very careful, he'll go and put her under restraint or something."

"Oh--would it come to that?"

"Yes. Papa'd do it like a shot. I believe he'd do it just to stop her
marrying him. You mustn't tell Papa what I've told you. You mustn't
tell Ally. And you mustn't tell him. Do you hear, Molly? You must
never tell him."

"Of course I won't tell him. But it's no use thinking we can do
things."

Gwenda stood up.

"We haven't got to _do_ things. That's his business. We've only got to
sit tight and play the game."

* * * * *

Gwenda went on with her packing.

"It will be time enough," she thought, "to tell Ally tomorrow."

Ally was in her room. She never came downstairs now; and this week she
was worse and had stayed all day in bed. They couldn't rouse her.

But something had roused her this evening.

A sort of scratching on the door made Gwenda look up from her packing.

Ally stood on the threshold. She had dressed herself completely in her
tweed skirt, white blouse and knitted tie. Her strength had failed her
only in the struggle with her hair. The coil had fallen, and hung in
a loose pigtail down her back. Slowly, in the weakn