“There’s Great House and the lives of it, my lamb. You pick up white shells in the onion-beds, don’t you, dearie? Where the sea has been once, the sea will be again. And they two—my lovely ladyship and him I used to give jam to for love of his fair face when he shouldn’t have had it, and he two feet high—oh dear, oh dear. I hope I know my place, but tides may deal the judgments of the Almighty no less than thunderbolts.”
Launce dressed quickly and ran downstairs, wild with excitement. At the door of the breakfast-room he stopped. It was empty save for his uncle, who sat at the head of the table, staring out of the window into the grey fury of the day. He moved no more than a man of stone, and his face had the bleak colour of stone.
Launce slipped silently into his place. A pale servant attended to him, but the man’s eyes were all the time covertly on his master.
Presently Uncle Will spoke, without turning his head. “Send for Simmons again,” he said, in a dead voice.
Old Simmons was there so quickly he must have been waiting outside. He was very wet. His eyes also were on his master with that look Launce could not read, nor see without fear.
“What time did you say they started?” Was that indeed Uncle Will’s voice?
“Soon after daylight, sir, quite early. Mr. Geoffrey, he had the horses ready, and her ladyship came down the side stairs.”
“And you heard them say nothing—as to where they were going?”
“Nothing at all, sir. Mr. Geoffrey said nothing. They turned down the beach road—”
A sound of despair was in the room, yet the master had not spoken.