Athelstan Taylor's face was a funny mixture of perplexity and mild reproach, not without confidence in his companion. "But why didn't you say so?" said he.
"You mean when you mentioned her just now—just before we came to Jim? Well!—because I didn't want to spoil our walk.... There's the carriage!"
The carriage was there, in the road some distance below, and was whistling for Saladin. He appeared to accept the whistle as a courtesy on its part, intended to keep him au fait of its movements and whereabouts. Otherwise he had a short time at his disposal, and would pass it in giving sanction and encouragement to his present companions. The horses' hoofs and the whistle passed and grew less in the distance, but Saladin remained undisturbed and statuesque.
"No," said Challis; "I didn't want to spoil our walk. Indeed, I'm in two minds if I shouldn't do better to say nothing at all about it."
"About what?"
"Well!—that's just the point. However, as I've leaked out this much, I suppose I may as well tell. About myself and Judith Arkroyd."
"Oh dear!" said the Rector, "I had been supposing—I mean I had been beginning to hope—that was all at an end...."
Saladin had no more time to spare for nonsense of this sort. He went with a rush—the rush of a sudden whirlwind—crashing through mere valueless briar and fern like gossamer; but suggesting that it was for their sakes, not his, that he steered clear of timber-trees. The carriage, still audible, became aware of him, and stopped whistling.
"I want to tell you all about it on my own behalf. And I suspect Judith will on hers." So Challis spoke, when the lull came. He then went on to tell all that this story has told, and it may be more. And the narrative lasted all the way back to the Rectory.