"I can be upon my oath that it wasn't, sir," answered Roy.
"Very well," replied Lionel, "I accept your denial. But allow me to give you a recommendation, Roy—not to trouble yourself with my affairs in any way. They do not concern you; they never will concern you; therefore, don't meddle with them."
He walked away as he spoke. Roy stood and gazed after him, a strange expression on his countenance. Had Lucy Tempest seen it, she might have renewed her warning to Lionel. And yet she would have been puzzled to tell the meaning of the expression, for it did not look like a threatening one.
Had Lionel Verner turned up Clay Lane, upon leaving Matthew Frost's cottage, instead of down it, to take a path across the fields at the back, he would have encountered the Vicar of Deerham. That gentleman was paying parochial visits that day in Deerham, and in due course he came to Matthew Frost's. He and Matthew had long been upon confidential terms; the clergyman respected Matthew, and Matthew revered his pastor.
Mr. Bourne took the seat which Lionel had but recently vacated. He was so accustomed to the old man's habitual countenance that he could detect every change in it; and he saw that something was troubling him.
"I am troubled in more ways than one, sir," was the old man's answer. "Poor Robin, he's giving me trouble again; and last night, sir, I had a sort of fright. A shock, it may be said. I can't overget it."
"What was its nature?" asked Mr. Bourne.
"I don't much like to speak of it, sir; and, beside yourself, there's not a living man that I'd open my lips to. It's an unpleasant thing to have upon the mind. Mr. Verner, he was here but a few minutes a-gone, and I felt before him like a guilty man that has something to conceal. When I have told it to you, sir, you'll be hard of belief."
"Is it connected with Robin?"
"No, sir. But it was my going after Robin that led to it, as may be said. Robin, sir, has took these last few nights to go out with a gun. It has worrited me so, sir, fearing some mischief might ensue, that I couldn't sleep; and last evening, I thought I'd hobble out and see if I couldn't get him home. Chuff, he said as he had seen him go toward the brick-field, and I managed to get down; and, sure enough, I came upon Robin. He was lying down at the edge of the field, watching, as it seemed to me. I couldn't get him home, sir. I tried hard, but 'twas of no use. He spoke respectful to me, as he always does: 'Father, I have got my work to do, and I must do it. You go back home, and go to sleep in quiet.' It was all I could get from him, sir, and at last I turned to go back—"