“Vampires of sympathy—­blood-suckers,” declared Raymond.  “Such kindly men as your husband must pay for their virtues, Nelly.”

“Sympathetic people have to work hard,” added Estelle.

“Not that he wants the lesser people’s gratitude, so long as he has my admiration,” explained Mrs. Legg.  “And that he always will have, for he’s more than human in some particulars.  And only I know the full extent of his wonders.  A master of stratagems too—­the iron hand in the velvet glove—­though if you was to tell half the people in Bridport he’s got an iron hand, they never would believe it.  And as to this sad affair, he’s given his opinion and won’t change it.  You may think him right or wrong, but so it is.”

“And what does he say, Nelly?”

“He says the child may be saved as a brand from the burning if the law takes its course.  He thinks that if you, or anybody, was to go bail for the child and save him from the consequences of his wicked deed, that a great mistake would be made.  In justice to you I should say that they don’t all agree.  Some hope you’ll interfere—­mostly women.”

“What do you think?” asked Raymond.

“As Missis Legg, I think the same as him; and I’ll tell you another thing you may not know.  The young boy’s mother is by no means sure if she don’t feel the same.  My married niece is her friend, and last time she saw her, Sabina spoke about it.  From what Sarah says I think she feels it might be better for the boy to put him away.  I can’t say as to her motives.  Naturally she’s only concerned as to the welfare of the child and knows he’ll never be trained to any good where he is.”

That Sabina had expressed so strong an opinion interested Raymond.  But Estelle refused to believe it.

“I’m sure Sarah misunderstood,” she said.  “Sabina couldn’t mean that.”

They went to the station presently, met Arthur Waldron and drove him home.  Estelle urged Raymond to see Sabina before he decided what to do; and since little time was left before he must act, he went to ’The Magnolias’ that evening and begged for an interview.

Sabina had a small sitting-room of her own in which evidence of Abel did not lack.  Drawings that he had made at school were hung on the walls, and a steam-engine—­a present from Mr. Churchouse on his twelfth birthday—­stood upon the mantel-shelf.

“It’s just this, Sabina,” he said; “I won’t keep you; but I feel the future of the boy is in the balance and I can’t do anything without hearing your opinion.  And first I want you to understand I have quite forgiven him.  He’s not all to blame.  Certain fixed, false ideas he has got.  They were driven into him at his most impressionable age; and until his reason asserts itself no doubt he’ll go on hating me.  But that’ll all come right.  I don’t blame you for it.”