"Quite easily," said Caroline. "I am going to walk."
"But you'll never do it, miss. It's much too far."
"Don't talk rubbish," said Caroline, quickly. "I can walk ten, fifteen, twenty, twenty-five, or even thirty miles, if needs be. Walking does not hurt me."
As she ran down again she glanced at the clock. It was a quarter to eleven. There was ample time, although she would have to keep to the roads, because she did not know any short cut. The idea that she should be frightened amused her in a way.
"If anybody hits me, I shall hit back," she said to herself, as she gripped her umbrella and started forth.
It was not a dark night, though there was no moon.
At first the mere physical satisfaction of moving, of walking swiftly, carried Caroline along pleasurably. The fresh, sweet cold in the air was like an embrace.
She skirted the village, and ventured across one field which she knew would cut off a considerable corner. This field was studded with sheep and lambs.
The foolish creatures got up with a jerk, and ran away, complaining and fearful, as she passed swiftly beside them. In the faint, misty light the lambs looked prettier than ever.
Once on the high-road Caroline pushed on vigorously, but by degrees that unconscious sense of exhilaration which had possessed her when she had first started fell away, and she felt heart-weary and indescribably sad as she realized the purport of this solitary excursion.