"You will be quite safe, or I would not ask you to go. I have been thinking over your story. I have not always lived in this out-of-the-way part of the world. I have had experience; and I see more clearly than you. I do not think you would have been prosecuted. They are clever, these lawyers, and they would have got the truth out of you. A word or a look on your part would have given them the clue. Besides, this other man; they would have questioned him, and he would have exposed himself."
"That's true enough; that's what I told Heyton----" began Derrick; in his eagerness, unwittingly letting slip Heyton's name, as he had the other evening let slip his own. He broke off and looked down, biting his lip. If he had still kept his eyes on the face of the woman beside him, he could not have failed to see the sudden change which came to that face, the expression of amazement, of fear, of intense excitement. She did not speak, she did not utter a word, but her lips writhed and her thin, long white hands closed and opened spasmodically.
"I'm sorry," muttered Derrick, regretfully, and frowning at his boots. "The name slipped out before I knew it." He laughed ruefully. "It seems as if I were unable to conceal anything from you."
"There is no cause for fear," she said in a tremulous voice. "You may speak to me as you would to a father confessor; as you would to a--mother."
"Oh, I know that," said Derrick, and his own voice shook a little. "Strangely enough--I'm afraid you'll think I'm pretty impudent--but ever since I saw you I have felt----Oh, well, I can't explain." He leant forward with profound respect and a warmer feeling he could not understand. "I suppose it was because you were so good to me; perhaps because you were so lonely, here amongst all these people----Oh, I _can't_ explain, and I'm afraid I'm distressing you," he went on remorsefully; for the frail figure was trembling, and the tears had gathered in the dark eyes. "I'm a blundering kind of idiot, and I'm worrying you with my tuppenny-ha'penny affairs. Forgive me!"
She drew her hand across her eyes; then slowly, hesitatingly, laid the hand on his arm.
"There is nothing to forgive," she murmured. "But tell me. I too have felt--I am a lonely woman; you--you are young enough--you might be--shall we say that I have been drawn to you as you say you have been drawn to me--you said so, did you not?--that I have felt as if I were--your mother."