"I'm sorry, sir," he said, and tramped heavily across to the hearth. "Put up with me if you can! God knows I'm up against it hard enough to-night."
He rested his arms on the mantelpiece and laid his head down upon them, and so stood motionless, in utter silence.
The squire came to him in a few seconds with a glass in his hand. "Here you are, Dick! This is what you're wanting. Swallow it before you talk any more!"
Dick reached out in silence and took the glass. Then he stood up and drank, keeping his face averted.
Fielding waited till at last, without turning, he spoke. "I've always known it might come to this, but I never realized why. I suppose anyone but a blind fool would have seen through it long ago."
"What are you talking about?" said the squire. "I'm utterly in the dark, remember."
Dick's hands were clenched. "I'm talking of Juliet and—Saltash. I've always known there was some sort of understanding between them. He flaunted it in my face whenever we met. But I trusted her—I trusted her." The words were like a muffled cry rising from the depths of the man's wrung soul.
"Sit down!" said the squire gruffly, and taking him by the shoulders pushed him into the chair from which he himself had so lately risen.
Dick yielded, with the submission of utter despair, his black head bowed against the table.
Fielding stooped over him, still holding him. "Now, boy, now! Don't let yourself go! Tell me—try and tell me!"