CHAPTER VI.
TELLS HOW A FACE LOOKED IN AT THE WINDOW OF LANTRIG; AND IN WHAT MANNER MY FATHER CAME HOME TO US.
My mother and I walked homeward together by way of the cliffs.
We were both silent.

My heart ached to tell the whole story, and prove that my tale of the _Mary Jane_ was no wanton lie; but fear restrained me.

My mother was busy with her own thoughts.

She had seen, I knew, the glance of intelligence which the stranger gave me; she guessed that his story was a lie and that I knew it.

What she could not guess was the horror that held my tongue fastened as with a padlock.