“Too late, thanks,” he said, lightly. “Good-night, good-night, Miss Vanley,” and he raised his hat. Then he turned to Bartley Bradstone. “Splendid night for an astronomer, Bradstone.”
The other man glanced up at the sky, and then at Faradeane’s calm face.
“Eh!” he said. “What do you mean?”
Faradeane looked around to see if the squire and Olivia had got indoors and out of hearing, then said:
“One word with you, Bradstone.”
“Well, what is it?” sullenly.
“Walk with me to the lane,” said Faradeane, quietly.
Bartley Bradstone hesitated for a second, and his face began to grow pale.
“I—I—it’s late, and beastly chilly,” he stammered.
Faradeane moved on, and the other man followed as if he had been dragged. When they had gone a couple of hundred yards, Faradeane stopped.