But Owen sat wet and haggard, looking into the peat fire as if for visions of the past, and never heeding a word Ellis said. Nor did he move when Nest brought the armful of dry clothes.
“Come, rouse up, man!” said Ellis, growing impatient. But he neither spoke nor moved.
“What is the matter, father?” asked Nest, bewildered.
Ellis kept on watching Owen for a minute or two, till on his daughter’s repetition of the question, he said—
“Ask him yourself, Nest.”
“Oh, husband, what is it?” said she, kneeling down and bringing her face to a level with his.
“Don’t you know?” said he, heavily. “You won’t love me when you do know. And yet it was not my doing: it was my doom.”
“What does he mean, father?” asked Nest, looking up; but she caught a gesture from Ellis urging her to go on questioning her husband.
“I will love you, husband, whatever has happened. Only let me know the worst.”
A pause, during which Nest and Ellis hung breathless.