He made no reply; he had not, perhaps, expected much. He threw the light of the lantern along the ground, and began to search for the glove.
‘You are carrying something,’ he said; ‘let me relieve you, Miss Jordan.’
‘It is—your violin.’
‘Miss Barbara! how kind, how good! You have carried it all the way?’
‘Not at all. Johnny Ostler had it most part. Then Mr. Coyshe carried it. The boy could not take it at the same time that he led my horse; you understand that?’ Her voice became cold, her pride was touched; she did not choose that he should know the truth.
‘But you thought of bringing it.’
‘Not at all. Your father insisted on its being taken from his house. The boy has the rest of your things, as many as could be carried.’
Nothing further was said. They searched together for the glove. They were forced to search closely together because the lantern cast but a poor light round. Where the glare did fall, there the tiny white clover leaves, fine moor grass, small delicately-shaped flowers of the milkwort, white and blue, seemed a newly-discovered little world of loveliness. But Barbara had other matters to consider, and scarcely noticed the beauty. She was not susceptible as Eve to the beautiful and picturesque. She was looking for her glove, but her thoughts were not wholly concerned with the glove and ring.
‘Mr. Jasper, I saw your father.’ She spoke in a low voice, their heads were not far asunder. ‘I told him where you were.’