He saw nothing but the pointing Finger, the Finger that pointed away from the course he had marked out for himself.

He felt uplifted, glad, as one who has escaped a great peril.

Was his Nelly to suffer the torture of an engagement to a man who would presently be every hour in danger of a horrible death?
Was she, poor child, to suffer like Mrs.Sayers?
like poor old Mrs.Mordaunt?
No.

She must be saved from the possibility of that.
He would say nothing.

He would have to endure the looks she would send him from under her white eyelids, the looks of wistful entreaty.