P.S.—Doan't say nothink to nobody of were I be, wotever you do, and kiss the kids for me. Poast anser at Tavistock or Lanson.
Oliver Luxmore refolded the letter, and put it away in his pocket without a word. Neither Honor nor Kate spoke or looked at each other. It was too clear to all that Charles was guilty. The last doubt of his guilt disappeared.
Oliver went about the horse and van. Honor did not fail to observe the change effected in him by one night. He seemed older by ten years—to have tumbled down the decline of life, and been shaken by the fall. His clothes did not appear to fit him, his walk was unsteady, his hand shook, his eye wandered, his hair had a greyer tinge, and was lank and moist. Joe ran to help in the harnessing of the horse. His father was trying to force on the collar without turning it. He put on the saddle wrong, and fastened the wrong buckles. The boy corrected his father's errors. Then the man brought the van into the lane, and stood with his hand to his forehead.
'I've forgotten 'em all,' he said. 'Whatever were the commissions I don't know.' The whip was shaking in his hand as a withy by a waterbrook. 'I shouldn't wonder if I never came back,' he said, then looked up the steps at Honor. It was the first time he had met her eye since Taverner Langford had left the house. 'I shan't know what is to be till I come home,' he muttered. 'The cuckoo-clock has just called seven, and it is three hours to ten. I think my heart will die within me at Tavistock. I shan't be home till night. However I shall bear it and remember my commissions I do not know. Joe shall come with me. I can't think. I can't drive. I can do nothing.'
Then Honor came down the steps with her scarlet cloak about her shoulders, and her red stockings on her feet, slowly, looking deadly pale, and with dark rings about her eyes.
'Where are you going?' asked the carrier, 'not coming with me to Tavistock?'
She shook her head.
'Are you—are you going to—to Langford?' he asked. 'To say what?'—he held his breath.
'Yes!'
CHAPTER XXXI.