“I reckon nowt o’ wire-talk an’ trumpet-talk an’ such-like! Seein’s believin’, when all’s said an’ done. I’ll gang myself. There’s a train somewheres about midnight, isn’t there?”
Robert stared.
“You’re forgetting you sail to-morrow, lad, at noon!”
Lup reached for his overcoat.
“Happen—if I’m not sailing across t’ Wythe instead!”
“Ay, but your passage booked—your gear aboard!”
“Let ’em bide!” said Lup tranquilly, and went out to the station.
He was in Witham before seven o’clock. It was a dreary morning, and offered to be a wild day. Passing Hest Bank, he could both hear and feel a big wind whistling in from the sea, and it was raining heavily.
In Witham it was raining, too, and the wind ran in fierce gusts up the narrow streets and down the innumerable entries. Overhead was a sky like a sodden blanket. He had his big coat, however, and after some breakfast at the “Green Dragon,” he went into the streets as they began to fill for market, seeking news and a friendly lift out. One after another of his acquaintances met him, open-mouthed and incredulous, but from none could he glean that there was anything wrong with his folk. This man had seen them quite recently; that had had news of them but yesterday, and so on. All was well on the marsh—Pippin Hall and the rest. Ninekyrkes still empty, of course. “What of Ladyford?”