He proceeded to tackle Ned, but he approached the task without the attitude of mind vital to success. For success in such a ticklish matter demanded in Kellock a standpoint of absolute impartiality. He must, if he were to do any good whatever, come to Dingle with a mind as open and unprejudiced as possible; whereas, though he knew it not, Jordan’s mind by no means stood in that relation to the pair. Had it done so, he had probably not interfered; for in truth it could not be altruism alone that prompted him to the step he was now about to take, but a very active and sincere sympathy for Medora in her alleged griefs. He believed her with all his heart and he had a great deal more concern for Mrs. Dingle’s point of view, which he accepted, than for her husband’s, which he had neither heard nor considered. The men had eaten their dinner, and Ned, out of a cheerful demeanour, which he brought from his work, presently sank into taciturnity. From no will to do so, but powerlessness to prevent it, he showed those about him that his thoughts were not pleasant. Indeed the most casual had noticed that he was of late only himself in the engine house, and that nothing but work sufficed to take him out of himself. Away from it, he brooded and did not chatter and jest as of old. To-day he was more than usually abstracted and Kellock seized the opportunity. Ned’s meal was finished in ten minutes and when he began to stuff his pipe, the other asked him to come for a stroll up the valley. “Let’s go up to the ponds and see if there are any birds about, Ned,” he said. A little surprised, since the bird that interested Kellock was unknown, Ned nevertheless agreed to take a walk. “Certainly,” he answered. “Me and Trood flushed a woodcock there yesterday, and I dare say on Saturday Trood will bring him down. He’s a mark on a woodcock—never misses ’em.” They strolled together up the valley where it fell gently to the Mill. A quarter of a mile above the works the coomb narrowed to a bottle-neck, through which a water-fall came down. The road wound through this gap and on one side of it rose old, blue limestone quarries, their jagged scarps and ridges fledged with gorse and oak scrub; while on the other side of the water a limestone bluff ascended, weathered to fine colour, and above it towered Scotch firs and ivy-clad beeches that followed the foot of the hill and flung their arms around a little mere, lying in the hollow of the undulating land.