Percival asked: "When are you going?"
"To-morrow. I pick up the circus by Dorchester. My lads are waiting me. Ginger Cronk, I have—thou mind'st Ginger?—and Snowball White, a useful one. Stingo seeketh another for me. A good lad, I must have, if the money's to be made, for Foxy Pinsent hath a brave show that will draw the company—two coloured lads and four more with himself."
Percival was silent. "I wish I could go with you," he said presently: "And you're going to-morrow, you say?—to-morrow?"
"At daybreak, master."
"Ah!" Percival gave a hard exclamation as though feelings that were pent up in him escaped him. "Now I had found you again, I hoped I was going to see you often for a bit. My luck's right out," and he gave a little laugh.
Japhra lit his pipe. "So we come back to thy trouble," he said.
His voice and a motion that he made invited confidence. Percival watched through the dusk the glow from his pipe, now lighting his face, now leaving it in shadow. He had longed to tell Japhra; he found it hard.
After a moment: "Hard to tell!" he jerked.
"How to bear? That is the measure of a grief."
"Impossible to bear!"