“My hat and stick, Kate,” he said. “I am going for a walk.”
His manner forbade questions, but as he was leaving the house an impulse came to me.
“May I come with you, father?” I asked. “I was going for a walk too.”
He hesitated for a moment, and seemed about to refuse. What made him change his mind I could never tell. But he did change it.
“Yes, you can come,” he said, shortly. “I am starting now, though. I cannot wait for a moment.”
“I am quite ready,” I answered, taking my hat and gloves from the stand. So we passed out of the house together.
At the gate he paused for a moment, and I thought that he was going to take the road which led to the Yellow House and Deville Court. Apparently he changed his mind, however.
“We will take the footpath to Bromilow Downs,” he said. “I have never been there.”
We turned our backs upon the more familiar places, and walked slowly along the country which led to the Downs. We neither of us spoke a word for some time. Once or twice I glanced towards him with concern. He was moving with uncertain steps, and every now and then he pressed his hand to his side. Physically, I could see that he was scarcely equal to the exertion of walking. It was mental disquiet which had brought him out. His eyes were dry and bright, and there was a hectic flush upon his cheeks. As we passed from the lane out on to the open Downs, he drew a little breath and removed his hat. The autumn wind swept through his hair, and blew open his coat. He took in a long breath of it. “This is good,” he said, softly. “Let us rest here.”