They did not seek to detain him, but stood mute whilst he left the room.
The little boy, timid and impatient, was at the head of the stairs. His father enveloped him warmly in a shawl, and so they went forth. It was not long before they met with a vacant cab. Half-an-hour’s drive brought them to the eating-house where Peachey had had his chop that evening, and here he obtained a bedroom for the night.
By eleven o’clock the child slept peacefully. The father, seated at a table, was engaged in writing to a solicitor.
At midnight he lay softly down by the child’s side, and there, until dawn, listened to the low breathing of his innocent little bedfellow. Though he could not sleep, it was joy, rather than any painful excitement, that kept him wakeful. A great and loathsome burden had fallen from him, and in the same moment he had rescued his boy out of an atmosphere of hated impurity. At length he could respect himself, and for the first time in four long years he looked to the future with tranquil hope.
Careless of the frank curiosity with which the people of the house regarded him, he went down at seven o’clock, and asked for a railway time-table. Having found a convenient train to Canterbury, he ordered breakfast for himself and the child to be laid in a private room. It was a merry meal. Sunshine of midsummer fell warm and bright upon the table; the street below was so full of busy life that the little boy must needs have his breakfast by the window, where he could eat and look forth at the same time. No such delightful holiday had he ever enjoyed. Alone with father, and going away by train into wonderful new worlds.
‘Is Emma coming?’ he asked.
It was significant that he did not speak of his mother.
They drove to the railway station, Peachey no less excited than the child. From here he despatched a telegram to his partners, saying that he should be absent for a day or two.
Then the train, struggling slowly out of London’s welter, through the newest outposts of gloom and grime, bore them, hearts companioned in love and blamelessness, to the broad sunny meadows and the sweet hop-gardens of Kent.