“I am not justified in speaking of Mr. Pepperill’s private affairs.”
“What! not to his wife?”
“Not to anyone. I was taken into confidence.”
“Bless you! he couldn’t help himself. Set a man as don’t know nothing about machinery to manage an engine, and he’ll get it all to pieces in no time. Pasco knows nothing about business, and there he is trying to run coal stores, wool, timber--all kinds o’ things. I know what it will come to, though you keep mum.”
To escape further questioning, Bramber left Coombe Cellars, and walked towards the village.
The school was closed for a week. Some painting and plastering had to be done in it before he could begin his duties. It was as well, he thought; it allowed him time to find his bearings, to get to understand something of the people amongst whom he was to be settled, and whose children he was to instruct.
As Bramber walked in the dusk, he encountered the rector, Mr. Fielding, who stopped him.
“Are you going indoors?” asked the parson; “or have you leisure and inclination for a stroll?”
“You do me an honour, sir; I shall be proud.”
“Let us walk by the water-side. This is a beautiful hour--neither night nor day--something of one, something of the other, like life. And who can say of the twilight in which he walks whether it will broaden into perfect day or deepen into utter night.”