“I doubt the old shippon at Pippin will never stand,” he said absently, thinking all the time of the soul, and scarcely for an instant of the shippon, and started when she uttered a sharp little sound of misery and contempt.
“I’m sorry, but may we go on? No doubt it is very important, but I’m afraid I’m too wet and tired to care!”
He begged her pardon instantly, and then, because behind the shippon had been all his anxious thought for the men of the marsh, “You don’t understand,” he added quickly. They were the opening words of much that he wanted to tell her, seeking comfort from her and strength; but she could not know that, and she did not wait to learn.
“No, I do not understand!” she said passionately.
“I am an outsider, and you always take care to make me feel it. Very well. I will remain outside. And I do not wish to understand.”
They trudged on in silence, and after she had again walked into the hedge he offered her his arm in a detached voice that might have come from the nearest stump. She took it without answer. On her wet cheek the wind could tell no difference between salt tears and the rain.
In spite of the weather and the busy season, the men turned up fairly well at the “Duke,” making light of their wet drive. Some of the elders were absent—Holliday of Pippin, for one; but his sons were there, and Dockeray’s arrival from the far marsh was greeted with applause. He drew Lancaster into conversation at once, and, almost immediately after, attention sprang to Denny, leading in Lup with the swagger and importance of a hen with a single chick. The latter met the general curiosity with the defensive imperturbability he had shown all day; only, when Lanty came to him wondering, he asked for Brack. He saw the agent start, and the eyes of the two men met in a dumb perplexity, almost as those of trapped creatures walked stubbornly to the same snare. But neither Lancaster nor anybody else knew anything of Brack, save his late church-going mania, though they had plenty to say about that. As they sat down at the long table, his name was shuttle-cocked from mouth to jesting mouth.
It was just about the time that Brack burst in at Ladyford that Bluecaster came into the “Duke” and opened the supper-room door. The warm air was full of light and comfort, smoke, fellowship and song. The “Duke” stood well protected by the surrounding buildings, so that the storm was not only shut out, but forgotten. His lordship came to the head of the table and shook hands with Hamer. At the far end, Lancaster stood up.
Bluecaster looked round the assembly with his shy, appeasing smile. His face was rather pale, but his voice was even quieter than usual.