They had encountered the agent early on, and fixed an appointment for twelve o'clock; and afterwards they spent the morning together until noon struck from the Town Hall. Will had grown rather tired of hearing the hearse story by then, and felt slightly relieved when the time came for them to part. "Nay, I'll not come in," he demurred, as Simon urged him at the door of the 'Rising Sun.' "You'll manage a deal better by yourself. You needn't fear, though, but what I'll see you through. We'll settle summat or other at Blindbeck this afternoon."
But at the very moment he turned away he changed his mind again and turned back. "I can't rightly make out about yon car," he asked, almost as if against his will. "What, in the name o' fortune, made you behave like yon?"
Simon muttered gloomily that he didn't know, and shuffled his feet uncomfortably on the step. Now that the shadow of the coming interview was upon him, he was not so perfectly sure as he had been that the story was a joke. He remembered his terror when the car was at his back, his frantic certainty that there were strange things in the air. He took it amiss, too, both as a personal insult and from superstition, that the Town Hall chimes should be playing "There is no luck about the house" just as he stepped inside.
"It was nobbut a hired car, wasn't it," Will went on,--"wi' two chaps in it, they said, as come from Liverpool way?"
"That's what they've tellt me since," Simon agreed, "though I never see it plain.... Seems as if it might be a warning or summat," he added, with a shamefaced air.
"Warning o' what?" Will threw at him with a startled glance. "Nay, now! Whatever for?"
"Death, happen," Simon said feebly,--"nay, it's never that! I'm wrong in my head, I doubt," he added, trying to laugh; "but there's queerish things, all the same. There's some see coffins at the foot o' their beds, and you'll think on when last Squire's missis died sudden-like yon hard winter, she had it she could smell t'wreaths in t'house every day for a month before."
"Ay, well, you'd best put it out of your head as sharp as you can," Will soothed him, moving away. "You're bothering overmuch about the farm, that's what it is. A nip o' frost in the air'll likely set you right. Weather's enough to make anybody dowly, it's that soft."
"Ay, it's soft," Simon agreed, lifting his eyes to look at the sky, and wondering suddenly how long it had taken the gull to get itself out to sea. His brother nodded and went away, and he drifted unwillingly into the inn. The chimes had finished their ill-omened song, but the echo of it still seemed to linger on the air. They told him inside that Mr. Dent was engaged, so he went into the bar to wait, seating himself where he could see the stairs. The landlord tried to coax him to talk, but he was too melancholy to respond, and could only sit waiting for the door to open and summon him overhead. He was able to think, now that he was away from the crowd and the chaff about the hearse, but no amount of thinking could find him a way out. He had already given the agent a hint of his business, and would only have to confirm it when he got upstairs, but it seemed to him at the moment as if the final words would never be said. After a while, indeed, he began to think that he would sneak away quietly and let the appointment go. He would say no more about the notice to Mr. Dent, and things might take their way for another year. It was just possible, with the promised help from Will, that they might manage to scrape along for another year....
He left it there at last and got to his feet, but even as he did so he remembered Sarah's eyes. He wondered what the doctor had said and wished he knew, because, of course, there would be no question of staying if the report were bad. He was still standing, hesitating, and wondering what he should do, when the door of the Stewards' Room opened above, and a man came out.