Clement took in the scene as he entered, and drew from it an instant impression of ill. The room was in disorder, lighted only by a pair of candles, the slender flames of which were reflected, islanded in blackness, in the two tall windows that, bald and uncurtained, let in the night. The fire, a pile of wood ashes neglected or forgotten, was almost out, and beside it a cupboard-door gaped widely open. A chair lay overturned on the floor, and in another sat the Squire, gaunt and upright, muttering to himself and gesticulating with his stick, while over him, her curls falling about her neck, her face tragic and tear-stained, hung his daughter, her shadow cast grotesquely on the wall behind her. She had a glass in her hand, and by her on the table, from which the cloth had fallen to the floor, stood water and a medicine bottle. In their absorption neither of the two had heard Calamy’s words, and for a moment Clement stood in doubt, staring at them and feeling that he had been wrong to come. The trouble, whatever it was, could not be what he had feared. Then, as he moved, half minded to withdraw, Josina heard him, and turned. In her amazement, “Clement!” she cried. “You!” The Squire turned in his chair. “Who?” he exclaimed. “Who’s there? Has he come?” The girl hesitated. The hand that rested on the old man’s shoulder trembled. Then—oh, bravely she took her courage in her hands, and “It is Clement who has come,” she said—acknowledging him so firmly that Clement marvelled to hear her. “Clement?” The old man repeated the word mechanically, and for a moment he sought in his mind who Clement might be. Then he found the answer, and “One of them, eh?” he muttered—but not in the voice that Clement had anticipated. “So he won’t face me? Coward as well as rogue, is he? And a Griffin! My God, a Griffin! So he’s sent him?” “Where is Arthur?” Josina asked sharply. “He left for London this morning—by the coach.” “Ay, ay,” the Squire said. “That’s it.” Clement plucked up courage. “And hearing that you wanted him, I came to explain. I feared from what the messenger said that there was something amiss.” “Something amiss!” The Squire repeated the words in an indescribable tone. “That’s what he calls it! Something amiss!” Clement looked from one to the other. “If there is anything I can do?” “You?” bluntly. “Why, you be one of them!” “No!” Josina interposed. “No, father. He has no part in it! I swear he has not!” But, “One of them! One of them!” the Squire repeated in the same stubborn tone, yet without lifting his voice. “No!” Josina repeated as firmly as before; and the hand that rested on her father’s shoulder slid round his neck. She held him half embraced. “But he may tell you what has happened. He may explain, sir?” “Explain!” the Squire muttered. Contempt could go no farther. “Shall I tell him, sir?” “You’re a fool, girl! The man knows.” “I am sure he does not!” she said.