"Them's his very words. Here's the letter, if you like to read it."
William took the letter and retired to the window. He did not want the farmer to see his agitation. He had been waiting day after day for nearly a month for some definite news, and here it was in black and white. He wondered what Ralph would say when he heard. Once more his hopes had been blown to the wind. His dream of success, not for the first time or the second, had been dashed to the ground.
"Seems definite enough, don't it?" questioned the farmer, coming nearer.
"Oh yes, there can be no mistake about it," William answered, trying his best to keep his voice steady.
"Well, it don't make no difference to me," the farmer said indifferently. "I've made up my mind to clear out at Lady Day. There ain't no luck about the place. I keep feelin' as though there was a kind of blight upon it."
"Indeed?"
"The way the squire shoved it on to me wasn't square to David Penlogan. I can see it clear enough now, and I've never felt quite comfortable since David died. I keep feelin' at times as though he was about the place still."
"Who—David?"
"Ay. He was terrible fond of the place by all accounts. It was a pity Sir John didn't let him stay on. He might have been livin' to this day if he had."
"Yes, that is quite true; but we must not forget that David is better off. He was a good man, if ever there was one."