“I must go to Jos Howarth,” said old Cooper, getting up. “I’ll hear what he has to say first.”
He went away to find his old fellow-worker, and the younger men looked at each other.
“It’s very difficult,” said John Henry Cooper, “to say what will come next!”
Cuthbert went off; and as this first train did not compel a delay at the junction, it was still quite early when he reached Kirk Hinton, where a Rilston fly was waiting for him, and in this he was soon driving up to the house of which he had heard so often, but which he had never seen.
The rain had all cleared off, the air was fresh and the sky blue, the old elms near the house stood up like pillars of gold, the house itself was clothed in every shade of russet and dark green. The first impression on one coming from the noisy, smoky Ingleby was of utter peace.
Mrs Palmer hurried out to meet him, with a sense of relief at sight of his brown, sensible face, and at sound of his kind, quiet voice, and behind her stood Godfrey with a dazed, scared look, and never a word of greeting.
“Oh, Mr Staunton, I am indeed glad to see some one to speak to. We have done nothing; Guy has been too ill to give directions, except to send for you, and Godfrey is not willing to act without him.”
She proceeded, as he questioned her, to tell him of the events of the day before, and of Guy’s condition. He had been a long time unconscious after his aunt’s death, and had fainted over and over again afterwards. He was better now, but the doctor had insisted on perfect stillness, and had seemed much alarmed about him.
“I think,” said Cuthbert, “that Guy has been too reserved about his state of health. He was not at all fit for so much exertion and for such a shock. But Godfrey, hadn’t you better see if your aunt has left any directions, anything to show you what she wished?”
“She did, certainly,” said Mrs Palmer, “in a table by her bed. She told my daughter to burn a certain envelope if she gave her orders to do so, when Guy arrived.”