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Oh, she let me know as soon as, round the corner of the house, she loomed again into view. “What in the name of goodness is the matter—?” She was now flushed and out of breath.

Oh, she let me know as soon as she came back into view around the corner of the house. “What on earth is the matter?” She was flushed and out of breath.

I said nothing till she came quite near. “With me?” I must have made a wonderful face. “Do I show it?”

I said nothing until she came very close. “With me?” I must have made a remarkable face. “Does it show?”

“You’re as white as a sheet. You look awful.”

I considered; I could meet on this, without scruple, any innocence. My need to respect the bloom of Mrs. Grose’s had dropped, without a rustle, from my shoulders, and if I wavered for the instant it was not with what I kept back. I put out my hand to her and she took it; I held her hard a little, liking to feel her close to me. There was a kind of support in the shy heave of her surprise. “You came for me for church, of course, but I can’t go.”

I thought it over. On this matter, I could face any innocence without hesitation. My need to protect Mrs. Grose’s innocence had slipped quietly from my shoulders. If I hesitated for a moment, it was not because of anything I was keeping back. I reached out my hand, and she took it. I held it tightly for a moment, glad to feel her close to me. There was a kind of comfort in the shy catch of her breath as she reacted in surprise. “You came to get me for church, of course, but I can’t go.”

“Has anything happened?”

“Yes. You must know now. Did I look very queer?”

“Yes. You must know now. Did I look very strange?”

“Through this window? Dreadful!”

“Through this window? How awful!”

“Well,” I said, “I’ve been frightened.” Mrs. Grose’s eyes expressed plainly that she had no wish to be, yet also that she knew too well her place not to be ready to share with me any marked inconvenience. Oh, it was quite settled that she must share! “Just what you saw from the dining room a minute ago was the effect of that. What I saw—just before—was much worse.”

“Well,” I said, “I’ve been frightened.” Mrs. Grose’s eyes made it clear that she had no wish to be frightened. But she also knew her place too well not to be ready to share any serious discomfort with me. Oh, it was quite settled that she must share it! “What you saw from the dining room a minute ago was the result of that fright. What I saw, just before, was much worse.”

Her hand tightened. “What was it?”

“An extraordinary man. Looking in.”

“An unusual man. Looking in.”

“What extraordinary man?”

“I haven’t the least idea.”

“I have no idea.”

Mrs. Grose gazed round us in vain. “Then where is he gone?”

Mrs. Grose looked around us but saw nothing. “Then where has he gone?”

“I know still less.”

“I know even less.”

“Have you seen him before?”

“Yes—once. On the old tower.”

“Yes, once. On the old tower.”

She could only look at me harder. “Do you mean he’s a stranger?”

She could only stare at me more intently. “Do you mean he’s a stranger?”

“Oh, very much!”

“Yet you didn’t tell me?”

“But you didn’t tell me?”

“No—for reasons. But now that you’ve guessed—”

“No, for reasons. But now that you’ve guessed…”

Mrs. Grose’s round eyes encountered this charge. “Ah, I haven’t guessed!” she said very simply. “How can I if you don’t imagine?”

Mrs. Grose met the accusation with wide eyes. “Oh, I haven’t guessed!” she said simply. “How can I if you can’t imagine it?”

“I don’t in the very least.”

“I don’t at all.”

“You’ve seen him nowhere but on the tower?”

“You haven’t seen him anywhere except on the tower?”

“And on this spot just now.”

“And right here just now.”

Mrs. Grose looked round again. “What was he doing on the tower?”

Mrs. Grose looked around again. “What was he doing on the tower?”

“Only standing there and looking down at me.”

“Just standing there and looking down at me.”

She thought a minute. “Was he a gentleman?”

She thought for a moment. “Was he a gentleman?”

I found I had no need to think. “No.” She gazed in deeper wonder. “No.”

I realized I didn't need to think. “No.” She looked at me with even greater wonder. “No.”

“Then nobody about the place? Nobody from the village?”

“Then nobody around here? Nobody from the village?”

“Nobody—nobody. I didn’t tell you, but I made sure.”

“Nobody, nobody. I didn’t tell you, but I made sure.”

She breathed a vague relief: this was, oddly, so much to the good. It only went indeed a little way. “But if he isn’t a gentleman—”

She felt a vague sense of relief. Oddly, this was a point in their favor. But it didn’t help much. “But if he isn’t a gentleman...”

“What is he? He’s a horror.”

“A horror?”

“He’s—God help me if I know what he is!”

“He’s... God help me, I don’t know what he is!”

Mrs. Grose looked round once more; she fixed her eyes on the duskier distance, then, pulling herself together, turned to me with abrupt inconsequence. “It’s time we should be at church.”

Mrs. Grose looked around once more. She stared into the darker distance, then pulled herself together and turned to me with an abrupt change of subject. “It’s time we were at church.”

“Oh, I’m not fit for church!”

“Won’t it do you good?”

“Won’t it be good for you?”

“It won’t do them!— I nodded at the house.

“It won’t do them! I nodded at the house.

“The children?”

“I can’t leave them now.”

“You’re afraid—?”

“You’re afraid?”

I spoke boldly. “I’m afraid of him.”

Mrs. Grose’s large face showed me, at this, for the first time, the faraway faint glimmer of a consciousness more acute: I somehow made out in it the delayed dawn of an idea I myself had not given her and that was as yet quite obscure to me. It comes back to me that I thought instantly of this as something I could get from her; and I felt it to be connected with the desire she presently showed to know more. “When was it—on the tower?”

At this, Mrs. Grose’s broad face showed me, for the first time, a faint, distant glimmer of sharper awareness. I could somehow see an idea slowly beginning to dawn on her. It was not an idea I had given her, and it was still quite obscure to me. I remember thinking at once that I could draw the idea out of her. I felt it was connected with her desire to know more, which she soon expressed. “When was it, on the tower?”

“About the middle of the month. At this same hour.”

“Around the middle of the month. At this same time.”

“Almost at dark,” said Mrs. Grose.

“Almost dark,” said Mrs. Grose.

“Oh, no, not nearly. I saw him as I see you.”

“Oh, no, not even close. I saw him as clearly as I see you.”

“Then how did he get in?”

“And how did he get out?” I laughed. “I had no opportunity to ask him! This evening, you see,” I pursued, “he has not been able to get in.”

“And how did he get out?” I laughed. “I had no chance to ask him! You see, tonight,” I continued, “he hasn’t been able to get in.”

“He only peeps?”

“Does he only peek?”

“I hope it will be confined to that!” She had now let go my hand; she turned away a little. I waited an instant; then I brought out: “Go to church. Goodbye. I must watch.”

“I hope it won't go beyond that!” She let go of my hand and turned slightly away. I waited a moment, then said: “Go to church. Goodbye. I must keep watch.”

Slowly she faced me again. “Do you fear for them?”

Slowly, she turned to face me again. “Are you afraid for them?”

We met in another long look. “Don’t you?” Instead of answering she came nearer to the window and, for a minute, applied her face to the glass. “You see how he could see,” I meanwhile went on.

We exchanged another long look. “Don’t you?” Instead of answering, she moved closer to the window and pressed her face against the glass for a minute. Meanwhile, I went on, “You see how he could see.”

She didn’t move. “How long was he here?”

“Till I came out. I came to meet him.”

“Until I came out. I came to meet him.”

Mrs. Grose at last turned round, and there was still more in her face. “I couldn’t have come out.”

Mrs. Grose finally turned around, and her face revealed even more. “I couldn’t have come out.”

“Neither could I!” I laughed again. “But I did come. I have my duty.”

“I couldn’t either!” I laughed again. “But I did come. I have a duty.”

“So have I mine,” she replied; after which she added: “What is he like?”

“I have mine too,” she replied. Then she added, “What is he like?”

“I’ve been dying to tell you. But he’s like nobody.”

“I’ve been dying to tell you. But he’s like no one else.”

“Nobody?” she echoed.

“Nobody?” she repeated.

“He has no hat.” Then seeing in her face that she already, in this, with a deeper dismay, found a touch of picture, I quickly added stroke to stroke. “He has red hair, very red, close-curling, and a pale face, long in shape, with straight, good features and little, rather queer whiskers that are as red as his hair. His eyebrows are, somehow, darker; they look particularly arched and as if they might move a good deal. His eyes are sharp, strange—awfully; but I only know clearly that they’re rather small and very fixed. His mouth’s wide, and his lips are thin, and except for his little whiskers he’s quite clean-shaven. He gives me a sort of sense of looking like an actor.”

“He has no hat.” Then I saw from her face that this detail already brought an image to mind, deepening her dismay. I quickly added more details. “He has very red hair, tightly curled, and a long, pale face. His features are straight and attractive, and he has little, rather odd whiskers as red as his hair. His eyebrows are somehow darker. They look especially arched, as if they might move a lot. His eyes are sharp and terribly strange, but all I know clearly is that they’re rather small and very fixed. His mouth is wide, and his lips are thin. Except for his little whiskers, he’s clean-shaven. He somehow reminds me of an actor.”

“An actor!” It was impossible to resemble one less, at least, than Mrs. Grose at that moment.

“An actor!” At that moment, at least, Mrs. Grose could not have looked less like one.

“I’ve never seen one, but so I suppose them. He’s tall, active, erect,” I continued, “but never—no, never!—a gentleman.”

“I’ve never seen one, but that’s how I imagine them. He’s tall, energetic, and stands straight,” I continued, “but never, no, never! He’s not a gentleman.”

My companion’s face had blanched as I went on; her round eyes started and her mild mouth gaped. “A gentleman?” she gasped, confounded, stupefied: “a gentleman he?”

My companion’s face turned pale as I went on. Her round eyes widened and her gentle mouth fell open. “A gentleman?” she gasped, confused and stunned. “He was a gentleman?”

“You know him then?”

“So you know him?”

She visibly tried to hold herself. “But he is handsome?”

She visibly tried to control herself. “But he is handsome?”

I saw the way to help her. “Remarkably!”

I saw how to help her. “Remarkably!”

“And dressed—?”

“And dressed?”

“In somebody’s clothes.” “They’re smart, but they’re not his own.”

“In someone else’s clothes.” “The clothes are stylish, but they’re not his own.”

She broke into a breathless affirmative groan: “They’re the master’s!”

She groaned breathlessly in agreement: “They’re the master’s!”

I caught it up. “You do know him?”

I quickly responded. “You do know him?”

She faltered but a second. “Quint!” she cried.

She hesitated for only a second. “Quint!” she cried.

“Quint?”

“Peter Quint—his own man, his valet, when he was here!”

“Peter Quint, his personal servant, his valet, when he was here!”

“When the master was?”

Gaping still, but meeting me, she pieced it all together. “He never wore his hat, but he did wear—well, there were waistcoats missed. They were both here—last year. Then the master went, and Quint was alone.”

Still staring, but responding to me, she put it all together. “He never wore his hat, but he did wear other things. Well, some waistcoats were missing. They were both here last year. Then the master left, and Quint was alone.”

I followed, but halting a little. “Alone?”

I followed, but hesitated a little. “Alone?”

“Alone with us.” Then, as from a deeper depth, “In charge,” she added.

“Alone with us.” Then, as if from a deeper place, she added, “In charge.”

“And what became of him?”

“And what happened to him?”

She hung fire so long that I was still more mystified. “He went, too,” she brought out at last.

She hesitated so long that I was even more puzzled. “He went, too,” she finally said.

“Went where?”

Her expression, at this, became extraordinary. “God knows where! He died.”

At this, her expression became extraordinary. “God knows where! He died.”

“Died?” I almost shrieked.

“Died?” I almost screamed.

She seemed fairly to square herself, plant herself more firmly to utter the wonder of it. “Yes. Mr. Quint is dead.”

She seemed to square her shoulders and stand more firmly as she spoke of the surprising fact. “Yes. Mr. Quint is dead.”