A SHADOW, not hers, which moved, kept Mary silently employed. She was watching it. She was not conscious of having spoken a single word from the moment of farewell to her mother until her arrival at Hill-street. Duplessis had accompanied her from door to door. She cannot have been aware of it, or she would have dismissed him at Victoria.
Not that he had been obtrusive -- far otherwise. He saw to everything, and what conversation there had been, he had made it. She might have been grateful to him for all this, had she observed it. Once only had a cry escaped her. "He is dying. He will die thinking me wicked. What shall I do?"
He had answered her. "No. He is a just man. You have nothing you need fear to tell him."
"He is dying," she repeated, her eyes fixed upon the dun waste of houses and chimney-stacks. Duplessis could not doubt this. It seemed as certain to him as to her. He, too, discerned the moving shadow.
As he helped her out of the cab in Hill-street the carriage came quickly up and the Rector of Misper-