'False,' whispered Knight.
'And dead. Denied us both. I hate "false"--I hate it!'
Knight made no answer.
Nothing was heard by them now save the slow measurement of time by
their beating pulses, the soft touch of the dribbling rain upon
their clothes, and the low purr of the blacksmith's bellows hard
by.
'Shall we follow Elfie any further?' Stephen said.
'No: let us leave her alone. She is beyond our love, and let her
be beyond our reproach. Since we don't know half the reasons that
made her do as she did, Stephen, how can we say, even now, that
she was not pure and true in heart?' Knight's voice had now become
mild and gentle as a child's. He went on: 'Can we call her
ambitious? No. Circumstance has, as usual, overpowered her
purposes--fragile and delicate as she--liable to be overthrown in
a moment by the coarse elements of accident. I know that's it,--
don't you?'
'It may be--it must be. Let us go on.'
They began to bend their steps towards Castle Boterel, whither
they had sent their bags from Camelton. They wandered on in
silence for many minutes. Stephen then paused, and lightly put
his hand within Knight's arm.
'I wonder how she came to die,' he said in a broken whisper.
'Shall we return and learn a little more?'
They turned back again, and entering Endelstow a second time, came
to a door which was standing open. It was that of an inn called
the Welcome Home, and the house appeared to have been recently
repaired and entirely modernized.
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