“Leave Marcella quite alone—­for the present.  She is not herself—­not normal, in any way.  Nor will she be till this dreadful thing is over.  But when it is over, and she has had time to recover a little, then”—­her thin voice expressed all the emphasis it could—­“then assert yourself!  Ask her that question you have asked me—­and get your answer.”

He understood.  Her advice to him, and the tone of it, implied that she had not always thought highly of his powers of self-defence in the past.  But there was a proud and sensitive instinct in him which both told him that he could not have done differently and forbade him to explain.

“You have come from London to-day?” said Mrs. Boyce, changing the subject.  All intimate and personal conversation was distasteful to her, and she admitted few responsibilities.  Her daughter hardly counted among them.

“Yes; London is hard at work cabinet-making,” he said, trying to smile.  “I must get back to-night.”

“I don’t know how you could be spared,” said Mrs. Boyce.

He paused; then he broke out:  “When a man is in the doubt and trouble I am, he must be spared.  Indeed, since the night of the trial, I feel as though I had been of very little use to any human being.”

He spoke simply, but every word touched her.  What an inconceivable entanglement the whole thing was!  Yet she was no longer merely contemptuous of it.

“Look!” she said, lifting a bit of black stuff from the ground beside the chair which held the envelope; “she is already making the mourning for the children.  I can see she despairs.”

He made a sound of horror.

“Can you do nothing?” he cried reproachfully.  “To think of her dwelling upon this—­nothing but this, day and night—­and I, banished and powerless!”

He buried his head in his hands.

“No, I can do nothing,” said Mrs. Boyce, deliberately.  Then, after a pause, “You do not imagine there is any chance of success for her?”

He looked up and shook his head.

“The Radical papers are full of it, as you know.  Wharton is managing it with great ability, and has got some good supporters in the House.  But I happened to see the judge the day before yesterday, and I certainly gathered from him that the Home Office was likely to stand firm.  There may be some delay.  The new ministry will not kiss hands till Saturday.  But no doubt it will be the first business of the new Home Secretary.—­By the way, I had rather Marcella did not hear of my seeing Judge Cartwright,” he added hastily—­almost imploringly.  “I could not bear that she should suppose—­”

Mrs. Boyce thought to herself indignantly that she never could have imagined such a man in such a plight.

“I must go,” he said, rising.  “Will you tell her from me,” he added slowly, “that I could never have believed she would be so unkind as to let me come down from London to see her, and send me away empty—­without a word?”