She had no remotest notion that the possibility of a remedy might
be a mere excuse. But none the less she was uneasy. Durrance had grown
more acute. Not only his senses had been sharpened,--that, indeed, was
to be expected,--but trouble and thought had sharpened his mind as well.
It had become more penetrating. She felt that she was entering upon an
encounter of wits, and she had a fear lest she should be worsted. "Two
lives shall not be spoilt because of me," she repeated, but it was a
prayer now, rather than a resolve. For one thing she recognised quite
surely: Durrance saw ever so much more clearly now that he was blind.
CHAPTER XIV
CAPTAIN WILLOUGHBY REAPPEARS
During the months of July and August Ethne's apprehensions grew, and
once at all events they found expression on her lips.
"I am afraid," she said, one morning, as she stood in the sunlight at an
open window of Mrs. Adair's house upon a creek of the Salcombe estuary.
In the room behind her Mrs. Adair smiled quietly.
"Of what? That some accident happened to Colonel Durrance yesterday in
London?"
"No," Ethne answered slowly, "not of that. For he is at this moment
crossing the lawn towards us.
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