“Impossible, sir. Doctor, you do not know, and I cannot tell you, the reasons why I act as I do.”
“You’re mad; that’s what’s the matter with you.”
“I wish your words were true, sir,” said Clive despondently, and stretching out his hand, he rested against the rock, and then let himself down to sit upon a rough stone. “I’m very weak, I find,” he continued apologetically; and then he shuddered as he noted that they were in the spot where Dinah had turned upon him and handed him the paper which he struck from her hand.
“Yes, my boy, you are weak, and I oughtn’t to press you; but I cannot stand it. Come, be frank to me. What have you done to make that poor girl throw you over?”
“I? nothing,” said Clive sternly.
“What! then you accuse her? Hang it, I won’t believe a word of it, sir. That girl could no more do anything to justify your conduct than an angel could out of heaven. Look here, sir, I constitute myself her champion.—What’s that noise?”
“I don’t know. I heard it twice before. Some shepherd calling his sheep, I suppose.”
The Doctor looked up at the bold precipitous bulwark of rock above their heads, and then downward toward the far-stretching vale below the shelf-like path, where a flock of sheep dotting the bottom by the river, endorsed the suggestion that the sound might be a call.
“Never mind that,” said the Doctor. “Come, I say that Dinah has given you no reason for behaving as you have.”
“Doctor, I resent all this,” cried Clive angrily. “I make no charge against Miss Gurdon, and I tell you that you have no right to attack me as you do. A man is helpless in such a case. Hush! No more.—Major Gurdon.”