Chapter Nine.
More of the Vicar’s People.
“I really cannot come again!” exclaimed somebody, piteously, as Geoffrey stood there half-paralysed by surprise.
“What nonsense!” said a man’s voice. “You can if—”
Geoffrey heard no more, for he beat a rapid retreat back into the sunshine, and hurried away, with a comical expression of vexation upon his countenance.
“Lovers, by all that’s wonderful!” he exclaimed. “Hang ’em, they’re everywhere! Fancy finding them in this out-of-the-way, forsaken place of all others in the world. Why, hang me! if I don’t believe that’s why some women go up Mont Blanc—they go up to court.”
He strode away, whistling a merry air, little thinking what an influence all this would have upon his future life; and, thrusting his hands down into his pockets, he went on, leaping from rock to rock, making for the other side of the promontory, evidently intending to see as much of the country as he could before returning to dinner.
“Why, hallo!” he suddenly exclaimed, stopping short. “Surely I’ve heard one of those voices before? No: impossible!” he said, “I don’t know any ladies down here.”
Going on again, he soon crossed a sort of heathery down, dotted with masses of rock, which cropped up here and there; sent several couples of agile sheep bounding away, and noted that they were linked together at the neck; drew long, bracing breaths of the fresh, pure air; and, after skirting along the edge on the far side of the promontory, he went on inland, comparing the glorious sea to violet and gold, as it gleamed in the sunshine and reflected the brighter tints of the cliffs.
He soon hit upon a foot-track, which evidently led towards Carnac if he turned to the right, while on the left it led—