Willoughby in his ignorance, like many another stupid man before him, had struck with a shrewdness and a vigour which he could never have compassed by the use of his wits.

He had pointed out abruptly and suddenly to Ethne a way which she might have taken and had not, and her remorse warned her very clearly that it was the way which she ought to have taken.

But she could rise to the heights.

She did not seek to justify herself in her own eyes, nor would she allow Willoughby to continue in his misconception.
She recognised that here she had failed in charity and justice, and she was glad that she had failed, since her failure had been the opportunity of greatness to Harry Feversham.
"Will you repeat what you said ?" she asked in a low voice; "and ever so slowly, please." "You gave the feathers back into Feversham's hand--" "He told you that himself ?" "Yes;" and Willoughby resumed, "in order that he might by his subsequent bravery compel the men who sent them to take them back, and so redeem his honour." "He did not tell you that ?" "No.

I guessed it.