“Going out, Mr Vine?” he stammered. “I was coming up to the house, but—er—never mind; I can call some other time.”
“I would turn back with you, only I promised to go down to Mr Van Heldre’s to-night.”
“Ah, yes, to Van Heldre’s,” said Leslie confusedly. “I’ll walk with you if you will not mind.”
“I shall be glad of your company,” said Vine quietly; and they continued down to the town, Leslie very thoughtful, and Vine disinclined to converse.
“No, I am not going in, Mr Vine. Will you let me come and say a few words to you to-morrow?”
“Yes,” replied Vine gently.
He had meant to speak firmly and decisively, but a feeling of pity and sympathy for the young man, whose heart he seemed to read, changed his tone. It had been in his heart, too, to say, “It will be better if you do not come,” but he found it impossible, and they parted.
Leslie hesitated as soon as he was alone. What should he do? Go home? Home was a horrible desert to him now; and in his present frame of mind, the best thing he could do was to go right off for a long walk. By fatiguing the body he would make the brain ask for rest, instead of keeping up that whirl of anxious thought.
He felt that he must act. That was the only way to find oblivion and repose from the incessant thought which troubled him. He started off with the intention of wearying his muscles, so as to lie down that night and win the sleep to which he was often now a stranger.
His first intent was to go right up by the cliff-path, by Uncle Luke’s, and over the hill by his own place, but if he went that way there was the possibility of finding Uncle Luke leaning over the wall, gazing out at the starlit sea, and probably he would stop and question him.