"As I told you before, this seems remarkably like my own business; yours being to send my bill, and get a carriage."
"Yes, sir."
"And, by the way, Jenkins," added Leicester, with a joyless laugh, "excuse me for meddling. I suppose I can tell those whom you have sent to that place where I'm bound for, that you'll be on presently?"
Half an hour later he left the hotel in a close carriage, and drove to West Billington. It seemed to him that his career had ended now. He had left the town in disgrace. He had left by a backway, like a thief. Arrived at West Billington, he took a ticket for a station twenty miles away, among the Devonshire meadows. But he did not stop there. He did not alight from the train until it had arrived at a little lonely station among the wild moors. There he got out, and looked around. He was the only passenger who alighted, and the porter eyed him wonderingly.
"Want to git anywhere speshul, zur?" he asked.
"Yes. I want to find some old dame who has a room to spare in her cottage," he said.
"Early fer fishin,' and laate fer shettin,' zur, be'ant 'ee? All th' zame, I d' knaw a plaace."
"Where?"
"My a'nt, zur, d' live two miles fr'm 'ere, ovver the moors. Purty lill plaace shee've got, ef you doan't mind et bein' quiet. Ef you'll wait ten minnits I'll go ovver weth 'ee. I shaan't be wanted fer a 'our or zo."
An hour later Leicester was sitting in a cottage parlour among the lonely Devonshire moors. The old lady had provided him with a simple meal, and the quietness of the place made him feel better. The day was now drawing to a close, and the evening shadows were falling.