The old moon’s eye drooped also over Normanthorpe House, out of the clearest sky that there had been for days.  The Steels were strolling on the sweep of the drive before the house, out for outing’s sake for the first time that day, and together for the sake of being together for the first time that month.  There was something untoward in the air.  In fact, there was suspicion, and Rachel was beginning to suspect what that suspicion was.  She could not say absolutely that she did not entertain it herself for a single instant.  She had entertained and had dismissed the thought a good many times.  Why had he never told her his real motive in marrying her?  Some subtle motive there had been; why could he never tell her what it was?  Then there was his intimacy with her first husband, which she had only discovered by chance, after the most sedulous concealment on his part.  And, finally, there was the defiant character of his challenge to Langholm, as it were to do his worst (not his best) as a detective.

On the other hand, there was that woman’s instinct which no wise woman disregards; and Rachel’s instinct had never confirmed her fancies in this matter.  But within the last few hours her point of view had totally changed.  Her husband was suspected.  He said so laughingly himself.  He was in a certain danger.  Her place was by his side.  And let it be remembered that, before his absolute refusal to answer her crucial question about his prime motive for the marriage, Rachel had grown rather to like that place.

They had been strolling quite apart, though chatting amiably.  Rachel had not dreamt of putting her hand within his arm, as she had sometimes done towards the end before their quarrel.  Yet she did it again now, the very moment his quicker vision descried the cyclist in the drive.

“I hope they are not going to run me in to-night,” he said.  “If they do, I shall run them in for riding without a light.  So it’s Langholm!  Well, Langholm, put salt on him yet?”

“On whom?”

“Your murderer, of course.”

“I have his confession in my pocket.”

It was the first time that Rachel had known her husband taken visibly aback.

“Good God!” he cried.  “Then you don’t think it’s me any longer?”

“I know it is not.  Nevertheless, Mrs. Steel must prepare for a shock.”

Rachel was shocked.  But her grief and horror, though both were real and poignant, were swept away for that hour at least by the full tide of her joy.

It was a double joy.  Not only would Rachel be cleared for ever before the world, but her husband would stand exonerated at her side.  The day of unfounded suspicions, of either one of them, by the other or by the world, that day at least was over once for all.

Her heart was too full for many explanations; she lingered while Langholm told of his interview with Abel, and then left him to one with her husband alone.