"Perhaps you never noticed there was a stile there?" said the Vicar.
"Yes," said Cardo, turning round to take a last look at it and the bridge, and—was it fancy, or did he see something waving in the wind?
For a moment he laid his hand on the reins with the idea of running back to see, but "Jim" was fresh, and, resenting the check, swerved uncomfortably aside.
"Let him go," said the Vicar. "What do you want?"
"Nothing, sir. For a moment I thought I would go back and take a last look at the valley; but never mind, let us go on. How black it looks in front!"
"A storm rising, I think," said his father.
"Yes. There will be a gale from the north-west; we shall catch it on the Burrawalla, I expect. Well, I have often wished to see a storm at sea."
His father did not answer, but looked gloomily on at the gathering darkness in front. He was full of fears for his son's safety, but it was not his nature to speak openly of any tender feelings. His late confession, although it had comforted and soothed him, was yet a mystery to himself, and he thought of it with a kind of awkward surprise and something like resentment. He was, however, unusually talkative and even gentle as they drove on together. When at last he had seen Cardo fairly off in the coach, with his luggage piled on the top, he turned homewards with a heavy foreboding at his heart.
Should he ever see his son again? Had he sent him from his native land to be lost to him for ever? And how willingly he had given in to his father's wishes! But, certainly there was nothing to attract him to his home—nothing but his love for a surly old father!
"A fine fellow!" he soliloquised, with a side jerk of his head. "A fine fellow! a son to be proud of!"