“Yes,--I don’t quite know why,” he said, “except that I’ve seen him about the village,--he seemed an alert, romantic kind of creature.--Forgive me, I see that pains you.” “Oh, not at all,” said Calladine, ironical. “We must wait,--there is nothing else to be done,” said Mr. Warrener, reluctantly. “No,” said Calladine, rousing himself to a sudden determination, “I will wait, but you, Mr. Warrener, must make your way home while daylight lasts. You will only have to follow our own tracks in the snow. Indeed, I should prefer it,” he said, seeing the old man hesitate, and gently he took Mr. Warrener by the arm and urged him out of the hut. A hard cruel sun was already setting red behind a clump of beeches. The white sky became suffused with crimson in the west; on the rounded tops of the hills the snow flushed to pink. But it was a hard, cruel world that they saw, the hard red of the snow where the sunset did not catch it. The line of the beech-clump curved already across the slowly sinking sun, and presently hid it altogether from sight; the tops of the hills lost their flush, and only a few red bars lingered still in the sky. “What a desolate spot!” exclaimed Mr. Warrener, impressed, “and what a spot,” he went on, “for a shepherd to study the courses of the stars, for such has been the tradition of shepherds since the days when the known world was not one tithe of the size we now learn it to be. Think of that, Calladine,” said the old man, warming to his subject, “those early shepherds on the hills were more conversant with the cycle of the heavenly bodies than with the distribution of their own planet. A fine tradition among shepherds--for what else have they to do? They don’t read in books, but they read in the heavens through the long, lonely nights; and observe, Calladine, that in winter, when the pleasures of the earth are less, the heavens in compensation treble their magnificence. I don’t believe that a man who spends his nights alone in the open remains similar to other men. He’s soaked in the sense of space; and young Lovel....” “Yes, yes,” said Calladine impatiently, “but there is no time to be lost if you are to reach King’s Avon before dark. Follow our tracks; there are no other tracks to confuse you, for it snowed a little this morning; indeed, there is still snow about in the air.” “I don’t like to leave you alone in this lonely place,” said Mr. Warrener, still hesitating. “Doubtless Clare and Lovel found no fault with its loneliness last night,” Calladine replied harshly. “My dear Richard,” said Mr. Warrener, vexed at his son-in-law’s harping on this theme, “I am sure you distress yourself unnecessarily. Clare will be able to reassure you,--and she is a very truthful child,” he added, with a certain pleading pathos, as though to justify his upbringing of her. “Where, then, did the man sleep?” said Calladine, turning on him. “Supposing he gave Clare the pallet, where did he pass the night himself? Tell me that.”