“Must we?” said Calladine without interest. “But I don’t think it’s any good, you know. I have a superstitious feeling about it; there was something intangible about Clare. I never got hold of her,--she was my joy, she tinkled about my house, in and out of my rooms, but it was like having a linnet in a cage. You know how the men go out and snare the larks under nets on the Downs; well, it was like that. She didn’t mope; no, never; but I think she was only waiting for the day when she should fly away.” “Nonsense, nonsense,” said Mr. Warrener. “Don’t encourage such ridiculous fancies, Richard.” “I’ve seen her,” said Calladine, “looking out of the window, looking out of the window....” “Come,” said Mr. Warrener again; “if you won’t come with me I must go alone.” “And the man too,” said Calladine, obstinately; “he was always on the Downs; he wouldn’t bind himself down to a master; he slipped free.” “Are you coming?” asked Mr. Warrener, standing up. He cast a glance at his writing-table. “Fancy Clare....” he said with a sigh. “She was a help to me, Calladine, you don’t know. I made a sacrifice in giving her to you. But I thought it was for the child’s happiness; and she hadn’t a mother. I missed her more than anybody knew. You never realised how much she helped me; why, look here....” and he showed Calladine a thick note-book filled with Clare’s handwriting. “She had an instinct for archæology,” he said, “and she wrote a beautiful hand--clear and pretty both.” “You make it sound like an epitaph,” said Calladine bitterly. “Heaven forbid,” said Mr. Warrener, a little startled. “She’s safe enough, never you fear. All we have to do is to get her back and perhaps we’ll find your fears were groundless,--a burst of wildness, only,--she was accustomed to liberty, you know,--perhaps it’s no worse than that,--lovers, you said,--but oh, no, I can’t believe....” “You and I, Mr. Warrener,” said Calladine, fixing the old man with a gaze full of meaning, “have perhaps lived a little too remote from life. Clare is alive, Lovel is alive; you and I are left behind.” “But all the same....” said Mr. Warrener, greatly troubled, “all the same.... Lovers, you said. Oh, no, surely not,” and he looked embarrassed, uncomfortable, as at an indecency.