"So like a man," soliloquised Mrs. Block, standing on her door-step, broom in hand, "they never thinks, never, never! And if this Mr. Lister commences neglect afore marriage, what will it be when the honeymoon's over. Ah, poor Miss Huxham! what with her pa dying, and her aunt robbing, and him as should love her neglecting—it's a miserable life she'll have. Ah, well, there's always the grave to look forward to," and ending her soliloquy thus cheerfully, Mrs. Block entered the house and shut the door with a bang.
Meanwhile the lovers, quite ignorant of Mrs. Block's opinion, walked along the village street, and soon emerged on to the common. They passed the cottage wherein Silas Pence lodged, and this recalled the episode of the so-called fit to Cyril, as he had heard all particulars from his garrulous landlady. "I'm sorry for Pence," said Cyril, glancing at the cottage.
"Why?" asked Bella nervously.
"It's such an awful thing for a person to have fits. If I'd known that I should not have pitched him over the fence last night. Of course, he's a rotter, and a blighter, and a nuisance; but he's weak, and I shouldn't have treated him so roughly. I only hope," said Cyril gloomily, "that it wasn't the fall I gave him which brought about this beastly fit."
"You can be quite sure of that," said Bella sharply; "in fact," she hesitated, then spoke out boldly, "I don't believe he had a fit."
"My dearest girl, he said so himself, according to Mrs. Block."
"I know he did, as Dora told me. And that makes me the more certain of his connection with the murder of my father. I suppose I must call Captain Huxham my father until I am certain of the truth of what Mr. Pence said."
"I don't know what you are talking about," said Cyril, stopping to stare at the down-cast, flushed face under the black hat. "Why should Pence tell a lie about his fall?"
"Because he didn't want anyone to know that Durgo had thrown him down."
Cyril stared harder. "Would you mind explaining?" he said politely, "I still cannot understand your meaning."