'
'Yes, more than enough,' was the reply.
'You make little of it, but it's a thing very few women would have
done. And it was hard for you, because you're a lady.'
'No less a woman,' murmured Adela, her head bowed.
'And a good woman--I believe with all my heart. I want to ask you to
forgive me--for things I once said to you. I was a brute. Perhaps if
I had been brought up in the same kind of way that you were--that's
the difference between us, you see. But try if you can to forget it.
I'll never think anything but good of you as long as I live.'
She could not reply, for a great sob was choking her. She pressed
his band; the tears broke from her eyes as she turned away.
It being Sunday afternoon, visitors were admitted to the hospital in
which Alice lay. Mutimer had allowed himself time to pass five
minutes by his sister's bedside on the way to Clerkenwell. Alice was
still unconscious; she lay motionless, but her lips muttered
unintelligible words. He bent over her and spoke, but she did not
regard him. It was perhaps the keenest pain Mutimer had ever known
to look into those eyes and meet no answering intelligence. By close
listening he believed he heard her utter the name of her husband. It
was useless to stay; he kissed her and left the ward.
On his arrival at Clerkenwell Green--a large triangular space which
merits the name of Green as much as the Strand--he found a
considerable gathering already assembled about the cart from which
he was to speak.
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