There was no answer.  Mrs. Warricombe had conceived a vague suspicion which was so alarming that she would not press inquiries alluding to it.  The encouragement given by her husband to Godwin Peak in the latter’s social progress had always annoyed her, though she could not frame solid objections.  To be sure, to say of a man that he is about to be ordained meets every possible question that society can put; but Mrs. Warricombe’s uneasiness was in part due to personal dislike.  Oftener than not, she still thought of Peak as he appeared some eleven years ago—­an evident the story of his relative who had opened a shop in Kingsmill; plebeian, without manners, without a redeeming grace.  She knew thinking of that now, she shuddered.

Sidwell began to talk of indifferent matters, and Peak was not again mentioned.

Her throat being still troublesome, Mrs. Warricombe retired very soon after dinner.  About nine o’clock Sidwell went to the library, and sat down at her father’s writing-table, purposing a letter to Sylvia.  She penned a line or two, but soon lapsed into reverie, her head on her hands.  Of a sudden the door was thrown open, and there stood Buckland, fresh from travel.

‘What has brought you?’ exclaimed his sister, starting up anxiously, for something in the young man’s look seemed ominous.

’Oh, nothing to trouble about.  I had to come down—­on business.  Mother gone to bed?’

Sidwell explained.

’All right; doesn’t matter.  I suppose I can sleep here?  Let them get me a mouthful of something; cold meat, anything will do.’

His needs were quickly supplied, and before long he was smoking by the library fire.

‘I was writing to Sylvia,’ said his sister, glancing at her fragmentary letter.

‘Oh!’

‘You know she is at Salisbury?’

‘Salisbury?  No, I didn’t.’

His carelessness proved to Sidwell that she was wrong in conjecturing that his journey had something to do with Miss Moorhouse.  Buckland was in no mood for conversation; he smoked for a quarter of an hour whilst Sidwell resumed her writing.

‘Of course you haven’t seen Peak?’ fell from him at length.

His sister looked at him before replying.

‘Yes.  He called this afternoon.’

‘But who told him you were here?’

His brows were knitted, and he spoke very abruptly.  Sidwell gave the same explanation as to her mother, and had further to reply that she alone received the caller.

‘I see,’ was Buckland’s comment.

Its tone troubled Sidwell.

‘Has your coming anything to do with Mr. Peak?’

’Yes, it has.  I want to see him the first thing to-morrow.

‘Can you tell me what about?’

He searched her face, frowning.

‘Not now.  I’ll tell you in the morning.’

Sidwell saw herself doomed to a night of suspense.  She could not confess how nearly the mystery concerned her.  Had Buckland made some discovery that irritated him against Peak?  She knew he was disposed to catch at anything that seemed to tell against Godwin’s claims to respectful treatment, and it surely must be a grave affair to hurry him on so long a journey.  Though she could imagine no ground of fear, the situation was seriously disturbing.