“But you will go straight to Clive, dear.”
“No,” said the Major firmly. “A man in my frame of mind, and with my hot temper, must not meet him for some time to come. It will be better not.” Dinah drew in a long deep breath, and remained silent as the Major hurriedly swallowed a little breakfast, and ten minutes later stood by the river path, bidding his child farewell.
“God bless you!” he said. “I’ll believe that Clive Reed is honest, but the money has gone.—Good-bye.”
Dinah stood watching him till he disappeared over the shoulder of the mountain slope on his ten-mile walk to the Blinkdale station, and then returned to the cottage, cold and shivering, as a sense of loneliness and want of protection crept over her.
Martha was waiting at the door.
“Oh, my dear, I hope there is no more trouble. Is it about money?”
Dinah bowed gravely.
“Dear, dear! What a nuisance money is. But I have a little saved up, master can have. I wish I’d told him before he went. He won’t be very long gone, will he, my dear? I mean he will be back to-night?”
“No, Martha,” said Dinah, with the chilly sensation increasing. “Perhaps not to-morrow night.”
“And us alone!” cried Martha, “and no Rollo.”