"I haven't asked him. What does it matter? He's back again. Edward, I'm wondering if you'd go to Janet's for the night. I asked her if she'd have you. You wouldn't mind? You see, to-morrow—he mightn't like it. I told him you'd been here last night, and he took for granted you'd gone back to-day. And—he's not quite himself."
"Mother, you cannot——"
"Don't be silly, Alec. He understands."
"Of course, of course. I'll go. If there were a train——"
"There's not. Janet will be glad to have you—she said so—and she likes men about. I've put your things together." She thrust a parcel into his hands. "Alec will take you. Will you need a lantern? No? Good-night, then—good-night."
[CHAPTER VIII]
They passed behind the house and, taking a narrow pathway, skirted the hill. Their boots struck against loose stones and scattered them, and their going made a great noise in the gloom. All about were the dark forms of hills, and the lake lay like ink in the hollow of the land. The larches were sighing very gently—moved, it seemed, of their own will; for the wind did no more than breathe in sleep.
"She's daft," said Alexander suddenly; and when he had no answer, he went on: "Do you not think she's daft yourself?"
"I have never seen her."