'There's no one stirring now, Puddock--I'll put my cloak about me and
walk over to the Elms, to ask how the rector is to-night,' said
Devereux, muffling himself in his military mantle.
It was only the restlessness of grief. Like all other pain, grief is
haunted with the illusion that change means relief; motion is the
instinct of escape. Puddock walked beside him, and they went swiftly and
silently together.
When they reached the other side of the bridge, and stood under the
thorn-hedge fronting the leafless elms, Devereux was irresolute.
'Would you wish _me_ to enquire?' asked Puddock. Devereux held him
doubtfully by the arm for a moment or two, and then said gently--
'No, I thank you, Puddock--I'll go--yes--I'll go myself;' and so Captain
Devereux went up to the door.
John Tracy, at the steps, told him that he thought his master wished to
speak with him; but he was not quite sure. The tall muffled figure
therefore waited at the door while John went in to tell his master, and
soon returned to say that Doctor Walsingham would be much obliged to him
to step into the study.
When the doctor saw Devereux, he stood up to meet him.
Pages:
820
821
822
823
824
825
826
827
828
829
830
831
832
833
834
835
836
837
838
839
840
841
842
843
844