But to Perris's intense surprise no storm of anger and reproach burst upon him. The house-place was tidied up more neatly than was usual; the breakfast table was set in the window: two places were laid for his wife and himself, and one for Pippany Webster; there was a fragrant smell of hot coffee; and Rhoda was frying bacon at the fire. She half-turned towards him as he entered, and Perris, dull of comprehension as he was, noticed that she was very pale, that there were dark shadows under her eyes, and that in the quick look which she gave him there was some expression which he had never seen there before. He sat down, staring at her, and as he stared he saw her face suddenly suffused with colour.
"Breakfast 'll be ready in a minute," she said, turning away from him to bend over the frying-pan. "The bacon's nearly done."
"Ye're none looking so well this morning, my lass," remarked Perris, not unkindly. "It's a soft thing to lig yerself down and fall asleep on that there old settle as ye've got into t' habit o' doin'. What's t' matter, like, my lass?"
"It's naught," replied Rhoda. "I've a headache."
"Happen a cup o' coffee 'll improve it," said Perris. "Gow, ye were as white as a mork when I come in, and now ye've turned as red as a rose I I've no doubt," he continued, rubbing his bony knees with his great hands, and still lost in his surprise that Rhoda should be so quiet, "I've no doubt 'at ye were upset yesterday, my lass, 'cause I didn't come home, and again last night because o' that matter o' losing t' rebate money. Now, that there rebate money—"
"What's the use of talking about it?" said Rhoda. "It's done now. All the talking in the world won't alter that. When a thing's done—it's done!"
"I'm none so sure about that there," said Perris, gaining confidence because of his wife's unusual placability. "I'm none goin' to lose my brass wi'out an effort to find it. You see, my lass, it's true 'at I were a bit overcome wi' t' drink—ye know what these here rent dinners is, and I'm none used to drinkin' sherry wines and suchlike—and t' truth is 'at I went to yon owd wheatstack to sleep it off a bit. But I had that there brass i' my pocket when I went there, and it weren't i' my pocket when I comed home. That's t' truth, Rhoda. An'—"
The scraping of feet outside the door announced the arrival of Pippany Webster for breakfast. He came in and took his accustomed place, and Rhoda, putting the fried bacon on the table, nudged her husband's elbow.
"Say no more now," she whispered. "Wait a bit."
Perris made no answer beyond a stare: he pulled the dish of bacon towards him and began serving the rashers while Rhoda poured out the coffee.
"You needn't give me any bacon," she said suddenly. "I don't want any."
And instead of sitting down at the table, she drank her coffee as, she moved about the house-place, doing one small job after another. Perris, unobservant as he was, noticed that she finished her first cup quickly, and helped herself to another before he had done little more than taste his own.
"Ye seem uncommon dry this morning, my lass," he said. "I hope ye're none goin' to be badly."
"I'm all right," she answered. But she finished the second cup as if she was still thirsty as when she first drank: that done, she went upstairs, and they heard her moving about in the bedchamber. When she came down Pippany Webster had finished his breakfast and was going out. Rhoda stopped him with a word. "I want that cow-house cleaning out," she said, turning to Perris. "It wasn't touched yesterday."
"Theer wor no chance o' cleanin' t' cow-house out yisterda'," said Pippany. T' maister theer said I wor to stick to t' tonnups all day."
"Now then, away and get it done wi'," commanded Perris. "Do it t' first thing."
When Pippany had gone into the farmyard, Rhoda closed the door and turned to her husband. She sat down at the end of the table, between the door and the window, and in such a position that her face was in the shadow of the window curtain. Perris, lighting his clay pipe with a live coal from the fire, looked at her curiously.
"Ye're still paleish, like, my lass," he remarked. "I hope—"
"I'm all right, I tell you," she said hurriedly. "Now then, what about this money. I didn't want you to say aught before Pippany Webster. Where do you say you lost it?"
Perris, always ready to be garrulous, sat down contentedly in the easy-chair by the fire and sucked at his pipe.
"Now, ye see, it were this here way, Rhoda, my lass," he began. "Ye see, there's no denyin' 'at I were the worse for a drop o' drink. And so, thinks I, I'll away and lie down for a piece behind yon owd wheatstack t' Four-Acre and sleep it off. And certain sure I am 'at when I went there I had that brass i' my pocket."
"How much?" asked Rhoda.
"There 'ud be three sovereigns and a half-sovereign, and a lot o' silver money," answered Perris. "I werrn't that overcome 'at I didn't know what I spent down at t' Bear. I know it were there—it must ha' been there. Why, now then, I slept a lot longer nor what I thowt to do, and when I wakkened I come straight home. And then when I were goin' to bring t' brass out to hand over to ye, my lass, it werrn't there! Didn't I say at t' time 'at I must ha' been robbed? An' I must ha' been!—there's no two ways about it."
Rhoda made no answer. She was sitting with her hands folded in her lap, and she watched Perris in a dull, apathetic fashion, as if he talked of something in which she had no immediate concern or special interest. And Perris went on, glad to hear himself talk.
"Ye see, my lass, there's a footpath across yon fields," lie said. "It goes, as ye're aware, reightaways up fro' t' chappil across my land and over t' high ground as far as Mestur Taffendale's place at t' Limepits. Ye know it, my lass."
Rhoda started.
"Yes," she said in a low voice "I know it."
"Well, ye see, if there's tramps about they might take that there footpath," continued Perris. "And if so be as a feller o' that sort chanced to see me lyin' down at t' back o' yon wheatstack, he could ha' picked my pocket while I were asleep."
Rhoda got up from her seat and began to clear the breakfast things away.
"Wasn't yon Pippany hoeing turnips in the near field to that wheatstack yesterday afternoon?" she asked suddenly.
"He wor, he wor, my lass," replied Perris. "Yes, he were there, were Pippany. He were i' t' Four-Acre and I were i' t' Five-Acre. But he see'd nobody crossin' them fields, 'ceptin' t' parson childer, an' their governess, and t' dog. I axed Pippany about that there this mornin'."
"You'd a deal better have asked him if he'd robbed you," said Rhoda. "If you were so far gone as all that, what had he to do but put his hand in your pocket? He was there, and I'll lay aught he saw you. And I'll lay aught he's got that money."
Perris, at first hearing this suggestion with an incredulous stare, suddenly leapt to his feet and banged the table.
"By Gow, I niver thowt o' that, Rhoda!" he exclaimed, "Of course, he were there i' t' next field. I'll break every bone i' his body, t' thievin'—"
"Stop a bit," said Rhoda. She pushed Perris back as he made for the door, and motioned to him to sit down again. "I'll call him, and we'll see what he has to say to me. You hold your tongue till I give you the word."
She opened the door, and, going out into the yard, called Pippany from the cow-house. Pippany came slowly across the fold, resentful and grumpy.
"Now then, what is it?" he demanded, as he came inside. "I no sooiner get agate on one job nor I'm called off to another."
Rhoda, who had remained by the door, shut it and set her back against it. She folded her arms and fixed Pippany with a stern look.
"Where's that money you took out of your master's pocket yesterday afternoon when he was asleep?" she demanded.