"Just been there. There's things troubling him. Even to me he was a thought short—distracted like. Wouldn't talk business, and sent me off almost afore I'd sat down. There's something on his mind without a doubt."
"His health?"
"Not that. I judge he's better if anything. But he's terrible lonely."
"Vicar's son often goes in to have a talk, I believe," said Philip.
"Vicar would stop it if he knowed, however. Mr. Woodrow's opinions are very queer, so 'tis rumoured," declared Mr. Huggins.
Prout sighed, drank his sloe gin, with many thanks to the giver. Then he rose painfully.
"I won't stop, for if I get stiff 'twill be a grief to my bones going home. If you don't mind, Jarratt, I'll go along with you."
"What I want to say to Sarah Jane's a matter of a little business touching her better half," the castle-keeper explained.
"So you shall, then. I'll walk out of earshot. But the night gets worse, and we'd better be on our way, if I'm to make as far as Ruddyford at all. I ought to have ridden, but I'd been on my pony all morning, and he was tired too."
They departed into rough weather. The moon was rising through a scud of light thin cloud, and fine rain, swept by the wind, drove out of the west.