Betty saw, through its relation, the
unconsciousness of the easily allured victim, the adroit leading on
from step to step, the ordinary, natural, seeming method which arranged
opportunities. The two had been thrown together at the Court, at the
vicarage, the church and in the village, and the hawk had looked on and
bided his time. For the first time in her years of exile, Rosy had begun
to feel that she might be allowed a friend--though she lived in secret
tremor lest the normal liberty permitted her should suddenly be snatched
away.
"We never talked of Nigel," she said, twisting her hands. "But he made
me begin to live again. He talked to me of Something that watched and
would not leave me--would never leave me. I was learning to believe it.
Sometimes when I walked through the wood to the village, I used to stop
among the trees and look up at the bits of sky between the branches, and
listen to the sound in the leaves--the sound that never stops--and it
seemed as if it was saying something to me. And I would clasp my hands
and whisper, 'Yes, yes,' 'I will,' 'I will.' I used to see Nigel looking
at me at table with a queer smile in his eyes and once he said
to me--'You are growing young and lovely, my dear.
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