“I told Mrs Mostyn about John Grange having gone away so suddenly.”
“Did you, sir? What did she say?”
“That she didn’t want to hear his name mentioned again, for she had been disappointed in the man.”
“Poor chap!” said Barnett sadly.
“Yes, poor chap!” said Ellis hastily. “For Heaven’s sake don’t ever hint at such a thing at home, Daniel, but I’ve a horrible thought of something being wrong about that poor fellow. You don’t think that, quite out of heart and in despair like, he has gone and done anything rash, do you?”
“Well, Mr Ellis, I didn’t like to hint at such a thing to any one, but as you do think like that, and as old Tummus and his wife seem to be quite suspicious like, it did set me thinking, and I’ve felt sometimes that he must have walked two miles the other night to the river, and then gone in.”
“By accident?” said Ellis quietly, “in his blindness.”
“Ah!” said Barnett solemnly, “that’s more than I can tell.”
“Or must tell,” said Ellis excitedly. “It mustn’t even be breathed, Dan Barnett. If my Mary even heard it whispered, she’d go melancholy mad.”