“Going, what?” exclaimed the rector, turning round, with an end of his napkin in each hand. “But I wanted to ask your opinion about---- You don’t look well, my dear fellow; what is it?”
“Nothing, nothing. I’ve tired myself with walking. I’ll get home.”
“You have an umbrella? Then you must take one of mine. But, I tell you, you must; it’s raining like a waterspout. Shall I walk with you?”
Kingcote had gone off into the darkness with inaudible replies.
“What is the matter with him?” asked the rector, standing in surprise. “Is he going to be ill? An awkward look-out in that cottage, with not a soul near.”
“He was very strange when he came,” Mrs. Vissian remarked. “He said he’d been walking, and yet wasn’t aware that it had rained.”
“Wasn’t aware? Curious fellow, Kingcote.”
“Don’t you think, Walter, there’s something about him we don’t understand--something in the circumstances of his life, I mean?”
“A good deal. But he’s a thoroughly good fellow; I must look in at Wood End the first thing in the morning.”
“Lucy,” observed the rector, “you are blooming to-night! Upon my word, every year makes you younger and more beautiful.”
“What makes you think of such a thing just now?” asked the other, laughing as she shook her head.
“I don’t know. I suppose half the joy of happiness comes of contrast with others’ less fortunate lot.”
“Oh, I don’t like to think that, Walter,” protested the wife rather sadly.
“Many things are true, my dear, which we don’t like to think.”
Lucy moved to reach something, and took the occasion to kiss her husband’s forehead.
And Kingcote, plodding through the lane’s mud, reached his door. The old oak-stump in front of the cottage stood like a night-fear; the copse behind, all but stripped of leaves, gave forth dismal whisperings; rain beat hard upon the roof-thatch. The tenant took the key from his pocket and entered the cold room; he could not see his hands. Without seeking any light he felt his way up the crazy stairs, and lay down to such rest as he might find.
It rained till noon of the following day, then began to clear. When a couple of hours of pale sunshine had half dried the hedges, Kingcote set forth to walk to Knightswell. Mr. Vissian had been as good as his word in calling.