"Shall I see if I can get somebody to drive you out?"
"No, no; I can do it, if I go slow and steady. Us'll walk through the orchard certainly."
"Don't speak near the back-side of the house, then, else he'll hear you, and think 'tis people stealing the apples."
They went silently through the orchard, but the wind concealed lesser sounds and panted loudly overhead. Then they passed under a lighted window that faced upon their way. The blind was drawn down, but a bright beam shot along one side. On the impulse of the moment Weekes peeped in.
"Reading one of his eternal books, I'll wager," he whispered.
Then every muscle tightened. He glared and grinned out of the darkness into the light, and fell back with a great gasp. His mind worked quickly. Prout had plodded on, and Weekes now hastened after him.
"Come back, come back," he said. "'Tis worth a few steps. 'Twill do your heart good—quick!"
The other found himself dragged to the window before he knew what Jarratt meant. His face was thrust to the aperture at the blind edge. He could not choose but see. The whole incident occupied but a second, and John Prout fell back and nearly dropped upon the grass. His stick left his fingers: both his hands went up over his face.
"Ban't true—ban't true!" he groaned.
Jarratt Weekes picked up his stick and hastened the old man away.