She told her husband's story of the encounter with the keepers as he had told it to her, of course with additions and modifications already struck out by the agony of inventive pain; she described how she had made him take his blood-stained clothes and hide them in a hole in the roof; then how she had urged him to strike across country at once and get a few hours start before the ghastly business was known.

But the more he talked to her the more confident he became of his own story, and the more determined to stay and brave it out.
Besides, he was shrewd enough to see that escape for a man of his deformity was impossible, and he tried to make her understand it so.

But she was mad and blind with fear, and at last, just as the light was coming in, he told her roughly, to end their long wrestle, that he should go to bed and get some sleep.

She would make a fool of him, and he should want all his wits.

She followed him up the steep ladder to their room, weeping.