Just a short passage separates her from him.

There are no doors--mind that, Mr.Thresk--no doors to lock and bolt, merely a grass screen which you could lift with your forefinger.

Wouldn't any and every one of the little cracks and sounds and breathings, of which the quietest and stillest night is full, sound to her like the approach of the dead man?
The faintest breath of air would seem a draught made by the swinging of the grass-curtain as it was stealthily lifted--lifted by the dead man.

No, Mr.Thresk.The wife is just the one person I could imagine who would do that needless barbarous violence of dragging the body into the open--and she would do it, not out of cruelty, but because she must or go mad." Thresk listened without a movement until Robert Pettifer had finished.
Then he said: "You know Mrs.Ballantyne.Has she the strength which she must have had to drag a heavy man across the carpet of a tent and fling him outside ?" "Not now, not before.

But just at the moment?
You argued, Mr.Thresk, that it is impossible to foresee what people will do under the immediate knowledge that they have committed a capital crime.