In obedience to the quaint peremptoriness of her manner, Richard had closed the outer door, and drawn the chair forward, asking Mistress de Chavasse to sit.  Squire Boatfield, who was visibly embarrassed, was still standing and tried to murmur some excuse, being obviously anxious to curtail this interview and to postpone his further questionings.

“I’ll come some other time, mistress,” he said with obvious nervousness.  “Mistress de Chavasse desires to speak with you, and I’ll return later on in the evening ... when you are alone....”

“Nay! nay, man! ...” rejoined the Quakeress, “prithee, sit again ... the evening is young yet ... and what I may tell thee now has something to do with this fine lady here.  Wilt question me again?  I would mayhap reply.”

She stood close to the table, one wrinkled hand resting upon it; the guttering candles cast strange, fantastic lights on her old face, surmounted with the winged coif, and weird shadows down one side of her face.  Editha, awed and subdued, gazed on her with a kind of fear, even of horror.

In a dark corner of the little room the straight outline of the long deal box could only faintly be perceived in the gloom.  Richard Lambert, silent and oppressed, stood close beside it, his face in shadow, his eyes fixed with a sense of inexplicable premonition on the face of Editha de Chavasse.

“Now, wilt question me again, man?” asked the old Quakeress, turning to the squire, “the Lord hath willed that my ears be clear to-day.  Wilt question me? ...  I’ll hear thee ... and I’ll give answer to thy questions....”

“Nay, mistress,” replied the squire, pointing to the ink and the paper on the table, “methought you would wish to see the murderer of your ... your nephew ... swing on the gallows for his crime....  I would sign this paper here ordering the murderer of the smith of Acol to be apprehended as soon as found ... and to be brought forthwith before the magistrate ... there to give an account of his doings....  I asked you then to give me the full Christian and surname of the man whom the neighborhood and I myself thought was your nephew ... and to my surprise, you seemed to hesitate and ...”

“And I’ll hesitate no longer,” she interposed firmly.  “Let the lad there ask me his dead brother’s name and I’ll tell him....  I’ll tell him ... if he asks ...”

“Justice must be done against Adam’s murderer, dear mistress,” said Richard gently, for the old woman had paused and turned to him, evidently waiting for him to speak.  “My brother’s real name, his parentage, might explain the motive which led an evildoer to commit such an appalling crime.  Therefore, dear mistress, do I ask thee to tell us my brother’s name, and mine own.”