“I know; Olver told me. But what does it matter? Shall we go?”
He followed her through the gate, and they took the track up on to the Downs.
Three days later Calladine rode into King’s Avon, turning in at the Manor House gates at the slow walk which had been his pace for the whole three miles of his journey. He rode slackly and without interest, letting his horse stumble; even the instinctive check on the reins seemed to have deserted him. He gave his horse to William Baskett, who ran out from the stables, and, laying his gloves and crop on the bench in the hall, trod wearily into Mr. Warrener’s presence. The old man was surprised and delighted to see him. “My dear Calladine,—my dear Richard, fancy your riding over in this snowy weather,—why, I thought you scarcely stirred out of doors. And what brings you?” He peered closer. “Dear me, there’s surely nothing the matter?”
“Clare has left me,” said Calladine. The phrase had been in his head for three days now. It was a relief to him to pronounce it at last aloud. “She has gone away with young Lovel.”
“But I don’t understand,” said Mr. Warrener. “Left you? gone away with young Lovel? The shepherd fellow? But why? where have they gone to? what for?”
Calladine raised his hands and let them fall again with a gesture of hopelessness,—the hopelessness of explaining to Mr. Warrener. Yet in a way he relished lacerating himself with the explanation.
“Clare and the shepherd fellow,” he said, “are lovers. Yes, it is as I tell you. They have been lovers for many months, perhaps for many years. They were in the habit of meeting on the Downs,—I don’t know how often,—frequently,—perhaps every day. I can’t tell. Since Clare has been married to me they had not, so far as I know, met at all. She has only seen Lovel’s brother,—the simpleton. He has come over to Starvecrow to see her. I don’t know what he has said to her. I can only suppose that he engineered their meeting. All I can tell you is that three evenings ago she went out, as she said, to look at the night, and has not since returned.”
“Three evenings ago!” exclaimed Warrener. “But I knew nothing of all this.”
“No,” said Calladine wearily, “I gave strict orders that you were not to be told. I thought she would come back, you see. But as she has not come back, I cannot keep it a secret from you any longer. We must take some action, I suppose, if you think it necessary. Or shall we leave them to themselves. If any one is capable of looking after her, Lovel is the man. And he knows the Downs,—they both know the Downs,—surely the Downs wouldn’t hurt them?”
Mr. Warrener took no notice of this pitiable cry wrung suddenly out of his anxiety.