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“If your uncle were here! Ah, so you’re clever enough for that! I thought so. You’ve thought me blind and dumb, I daresay—do you suppose I haven’t seen how he’s changed ever since you came into the house—you, with the ways and the voice that he was used to once and had learnt to do without—you, with your jokes and talks about folk and places you both belong to, night after night, while I sat, and no one thought whether I was there or not. Do you think I haven’t seen how he doesn’t need me?”

Her voice broke. Pamela had scarcely heard the last sentences, but afterwards they came back to her and explained a good deal. Without another word she walked past her aunt and out to her own room, where she sat motionless, trying to understand, to see clearly and sanely, and to arm herself against the crowding terrors which were gathering round her now.

She spoke to Power that evening. He had lied to her before, she knew, so it seemed useless enough; but where was she to appeal for truth? If the pale face and brave, still innocent eyes moved him to any pity, at least he showed none.

“True? Of course it’s true that there are tales going round,” he said bluntly. “Could you expect anything else? . . . Never mind, Pamela. They’ll stop the minute it’s announced that you are going to marry me. Come, don’t fight any more. I know more about this than you do—we should be happy. I’ll be good to you—trust me.”

“Trust you?” Child as she was, her scornful laugh was rather galling, Power reflected. He hoped the old girl had not overdone things that afternoon; but really, Pamela was such a blessèd innocent, one had to lay it on pretty thick.

Then the siege began. Day after day it continued—it is not necessary to give details of it—but a stronger fortress than Pamela’s might have succumbed under the fire of