“I am leaving Annesley Park, Stimson, at once. I do not know whither I am going. The prospect to any one but myself cannot be very encouraging, because I have no intention of ever coming back again.”
The valet was startled.
“Under the circumstances,” his master continued, “I cannot ask you to share my exile, Stimson—I can ask no one—and I think that I shall be best alone.”
“Let me go with you, Sir Harold,” the valet begged. “I have no friends, no relations, in England; I have no ties, and I care for nothing, so long as I am with you.”
The baronet was visibly affected.
“I want you to clearly understand,” he said, “that nothing can change my future plans.”
“I am content, Sir Harold, whatever they may be,” was the firm reply.
“Then let everything be ready for my departure to London to-night.”
“To-night!” echoed Stimson. “Very well, Sir Harold.”
“You must tell no living soul whither I have gone, and be prepared to join me to-morrow. I may even change my name, my very identity. I never wish to be known to the world as Sir Harold Annesley again. You will deny me to everybody, Stimson. I have said good-by to Colonel Greyson. Yes, deny me to everybody except my cousin, Miss Nugent, if she should wish to see me. There, Stimson, I have nothing more to say. For an hour or two I shall be busy with my letters. In the meanwhile be ready to see me off by the six o’clock train to London.”