Mr Brathwaite mused a moment.
“You’re sure you’re right about this, Arthur?” he said. “Well, I suppose you are; you’re hardly the sort of fellow to do a thing by halves. Now listen: if things are as bad as you say, I think your plan is a good one. Go away for a change, and do some travel or up-country hunting. You’re naturally a restless man, and a little excitement and change may do you a world of good now. As to any inconvenience to me, that’s nothing. We are not very busy just now, and though we shall all miss you terribly, Hicks and I will manage to rub along somehow. And I’ll do what you want about getting off. When do you want to leave?”
“To-night, or to-morrow morning, rather. There’s a good moon now, nearly at half.”
“All right; but look here, my boy. Don’t remain away from us a minute longer than you feel inclined; and whatever happens, or wherever you may be, remember that my door is always open to you, all you have to do is to walk in and make your home with us, as long as we are above ground if you feel inclined. Now we’d better be going. You are looking very ill; get on my horse, I’ll walk a bit.”
But this the other firmly refused to do. “I feel much better now,” he said, “I’ll walk alongside.”
They were not very far from home, for Claverton’s wandering had been of a somewhat tortuous nature, so that he had got over a great deal of ground without covering much of actual distance. So they started upon their way back, and for the time he felt calmed by the other’s strong, manly sympathy; but it was the calm of exhaustion rather than that of relief.
Assuredly there were disturbing elements underlying the surface of the household at Seringa Vale, or, at any rate, of its younger members. Yet that evening, when they met, there was little or no sign of anything of the kind. Claverton looked rather worn and haggard, but not conspicuously so, and though quieter than usual, this was accounted for by one or two hints that Mr Brathwaite had let drop in accordance with the plan the two had agreed upon. Hicks, however, counterbalanced this by being uproariously lively on his own account. He had had a rare old time of it in the veldt that afternoon, having brought back a wild guinea-fowl, three partridges, and a red koorhaan slung to his saddle, the spoils of his bow and spear. “Not bad, you know,” as he said. “To say nothing of that other guinea-fowl and another partridge, too, that I ought to have got.”
“Why didn’t you get them, then?” asked Mr Brathwaite.
“Oh, I dropped them all right, but the grass was so long and they got away somehow,” at which reply the old man laughed meaningly, and remarked that Hicks was becoming such a crack shot that he felt himself bound to leave something for another time.
“By the way, where’s Lilian?” went on Mr Brathwaite, forgetting.