On Monday the farmer had business in Maldon.  Occasionally when he drove over to that town he took one or other of his children with him to visit a relative, and to-day he proposed that Jane should be of the party.  They started after an early dinner.  Michael and Sidney stood together in the road, watching the vehicle as it rolled away; then they walked in silence to a familiar spot where they could sit in shadow.  Sidney was glad of Jane’s departure for the afternoon.  He found it impossible to escape the restlessness into which he had fallen, and was resolved to seek relief by opening his mind to the old man.  There could be little doubt that Michael already understood his thoughts, and no better opportunity for such a conversation was likely to present itself.  When they had been seated for a minute or two, neither speaking, Sidney turned to his companion with a grave look.  At the same instant Michael also had raised his eyes and seemed on the point of saying something of importance.  They regarded each other.  The old man’s face was set in an expression of profound feeling, and his lips moved tremulously before words rose to them.

‘What were you going to say, Sidney?’ he asked, reading the other’s features.

’Something which I hope won’t be displeasing to you.  I was going to speak of Jane.  Since she has been living with you she has grown from a child to a woman.  When I was talking with her in the garden on Saturday night I felt this change more distinctly than I had ever done before.  I understood that it had made a change in myself.  I love her, Mr. Snowdon, and it’s my dearest hope that she may come to feel the same for me.’

Michael was more agitated than the speaker; he raised a hand to his forehead and closed his eyes as if the light pained them.  But the smile with which he speedily answered Sidney’s look of trouble was full of reassurance.

‘You couldn’t have said anything that would give me more pleasure,’ he replied, just above his breath.  ’Does she know it?  Did you speak to her?’

’We were talking of years ago, and I mentioned Clara Hewett.  I said that I had forgotten all about her except that she’d befriended Jane.  But nothing more than that.  I couldn’t say what I was feeling just then.  Partly I thought that it was right to speak to you first; and then—­it seemed to me almost as if I should be treating her unfairly.  I’m so much older—­she knows that it isn’t the first time I—­and she’s always thought of me just as a friend.’

‘So much older?’ repeated Michael, with a grave smile.  ’Why, you’re both children to my sight.  Wait and let me think a bit, Sidney.  I too have something I want to say.  I’m glad you’ve spoken this afternoon, when there’s time for us to talk.  Just wait a few minutes, and let me think.’

Sidney had as good as forgotten that there was anything unusual in his friend’s circumstances; this last day or two he had thought of nothing but Jane and his love for her.  Now he recalled the anticipation—­originating he scarcely knew how—­that some kind of disclosure would before long be made to him.  The trouble of’ his mind was heightened; he waited with all but dread for the next words.