“Has no one told you about it?” she said.
“No one—no one. I am treated as a nonentity always.” He spoke fretfully, querulously. “I believe it is on account of my health, but I often think my health would improve if I were allowed to lead a more normal life. My son has relegated to himself the rulership of this establishment, and everyone is made to bow down to him. I am told—nothing. I am consulted—never.”
“He leads a hard life,” Frances said. “Perhaps it has made him hard.”
“No, no! It isn’t that. It is just the passion for ruling. Let me warn you against him, Miss Thorold! Never allow him to attain any sort of influence over you, for he is a difficult man to thwart. You would not like to be bound to him for life. It would break your heart.” He paused a moment and made again that gesture as of dismissing an unpleasant topic. “But now,” he said, “about the little girl—you were going to tell me. Something happened to her up at the Stones. What was it? Do you know what it was?”
Frances looked at him. His voice was tremulous, and yet she had a curious conviction that it was not solely anxiety for little Ruth that made it so. She considered for a moment before replying.
“Ah! Was it near the Rocking Stone?” Mr. Dermot sat slowly forward. “You will tell me,” he said. “I am sure you will tell me.”
Again Frances hesitated. If the details of Ruth’s accident had purposely been kept from him, was she justified in enlightening him?
“I only know what I have been told since,” she said. “They found her lying unconscious, and it was evident that she had had a fall.”
“And that is all you know? You cannot tell me who found her or why she went?” Suppressed excitement sounded in the words. Mr. Dermot was gripping the arm of his chair, and the bones of his knuckles stood out sharply. “I am very anxious to know all,” he said. “They try to keep it from me, but it is wrong—it is wrong. She had a fall, you say? Was she—was she—alone when she fell?”
“I believe so,” Frances said. “In fact, I am sure of it, for they say she was not found for some hours after.”
“Ah!” The old man relaxed so suddenly that he almost fell back into his chair. “That is what I wanted to know. She was alone. They say so.” He broke off, panting a little; but in a moment or two recovered himself sufficiently to smile at her. “Now that,” he said, “gives colour, does it not, to the local rumour that the powers of evil are in some mysterious way permitted to haunt the Stones. This is a very interesting point, Miss Thorold. Can her fall have been due to something of this nature? Are you a believer in the occult?”