"I don't doubt it, poor thing. And all right at the Grange?"
"Yes, sir—so as I've heard. Save and except Mr. Browning's the same as usual, sir. Which in course you knows."
"Ah—yes," the two syllables being divided by a thoughtful break. Manner and voice had till this moment been marked by a frank joyousness, boy-like yet manly, but now there came a touch of gravity into Nigel's face. He stood for three seconds gazing across the rails into a misty distance, lost in cogitation; then roused himself.
"You will have the trunks up soon. I must be off."
"All right, sir."
Leaving his ticket with the collector, Nigel passed into the street. He went onwards in a swift steadfast manner; vigour and decision being apparent in every motion of the alert well-proportioned figure.
It did not surprise Nigel that nobody was at the station to meet him after his year of absence, wherein he had travelled literally "round the world." He had not expected to arrive till next morning, but finding an earlier train than he had hoped for "within catch," the temptation to surprise his home-folks had proved irresistible.
Newton Bury had been his home through life, and every wall and window in this busy High Street was familiar to him. Shops were shut, and people from within were airing themselves on the pavements after a hard day's work. Nigel saw many a well-known face as he went by, but he had no wish to be delayed, and it was easy to avoid recognition in the broken light of gas-lamps placed by no means too near together.
Leaving High Street and Broad Street, he hesitated one moment at the foot of some stone steps leading upward. This was the short-cut between station and home; for Newton Bury was a town built partly upon hills; and the Grange stood high. But a certain attraction drew him along the main thoroughfare.
"After all, it's not ten minutes' difference; and I should like one glimpse," he said to himself.