“I think there are other members of your flock, sir,” said James Andersen to the young vicar, “who are at the present moment more in need of your help than I am. What I need at this moment is air—air. I should like to be able to wander over the Quantocks this afternoon. Or better still, by the edge of the sea! We all need more air than we get here. It is too shut-in here—too shut-in and oppressive. There’s too much stone about; and too much clay. Yes, and the trees grow too close together. Do you know, Miss Seldom, what I should like to do? I should like to pull down all the houses—I mean all the big houses—and cut down all the trees, and then perhaps the wind would be free to blow. It’s wind we want—all of us—wind and air to clear our brains! Do you realize”—his voice once more took that alarming tone of confidential secretiveness, which had struck them so disagreeably the preceding evening;—“do you realize that there are evil spirits abroad in Nevilton, and that they come from the Hill over there?” He pointed towards the Leonian escarpments which could be plainly seen from where they stood, slumbering in the splendid sunshine.
“It looks more like a sphinx than a lion today, doesn’t it, Miss Seldom? Oh, I should like to tear it up, bodily, from where it lies, and fling it into the sea! It blocks the horizon. It blocks the path of the west-wind. I tell you it is the burden that weighs upon us all! But I shall conquer it yet; I shall be master of it yet!” He was silent a few seconds, while a look of supreme disappointment clouded the face of his brother; and the two new-comers gazed at him in alarm.
“I must start at once,” he exclaimed abruptly. “I must get far, far off. It is air I need, air and the west-wind! No,” he cried imperiously, when Luke made a movement, as if to take leave of their companions. “I must go alone. Alone! That is what I must be today: alone—and on the hills!”
He turned impatiently as he spoke; and without another word strode off towards the level-crossing.
“Surely you will not let him go like that, Mr. Andersen?” cried Vennie, in great distress.
“It would do no good,” replied Luke, watching his brother pass through the gate and cross the track. “I should only make him much worse if I tried to follow him. Besides, he wouldn’t let me. I don’t think he’ll come to any harm. I should have a different instinct about it if there were real danger. Perhaps, as he says, a good long walk may really clear his brain.”
“I do pray your instinct is to be relied on,” said Vennie, anxiously watching the tall figure of the stone-carver, as he ascended the vicarage hill.
“Well, if you’re not going to do your duty, Andersen, I’m going to do mine!” exclaimed the vicar of Nevilton, setting off, without further parley, in pursuit of the fugitive.
“Stop! Mr. Clavering, I’ll come with you,” cried Vennie. And she followed her impulsive friend towards the gate.
As they ascended the hill together, keeping Andersen in sight, Clavering remarked to his companion, “I believe that dissolute young reprobate refused to look after his brother simply because he wanted to talk to those two girls.”