My mother stood by my side and noticed my intent gaze.
“You admire Ravenor Castle very much, Philip?” she said quietly.
I withdrew my eyes with an effort.
“I do, mother,” I confessed; “very much indeed. The place has a sort of fascination for me—and the man who lives there!”
My mother had turned a little away from me and stood with face upturned to heaven and mutely moving lips. Out of her eyes I could see the tears slowly welling, and her tall slim figure was convulsed with sobs. I sprang to her side and caught hold of her hand.
“What is it, mother?” I cried. “Tell me!”
She shook her head sadly.
“Not now, Philip—not now. Come, let us go!”
Side by side we began to descend the hill. Our path wound around several freshly-planted spinneys and then led through a plantation of pine-trees.
Then we turned with regret, so far as I was concerned, into the muddy road again and walked for more than a mile between high, straight hedges. At last, soon after mid-day, we turned to the left, passed through a farmyard and along a winding path, which led us, now by the side of turnip fields, now across bracken-covered open country, to the summit of our last hill.