Of course you will have realized that Elizabeth’s surmise regarding David was entirely correct.
When he made his material embarkation at Cape Town he hadn’t the faintest conception of the mental voyage on which he was embarking, or I am pretty sure he would never have set foot on the ship’s deck, or, at all events would have done so with misgiving. And he had had none. Gay as a schoolboy in quest of adventure, and determined as that youngster, he had watched the African coast recede from his sight, had seen Table Mountain dwindle to a mere speck, had turned his face in the direction of his new enterprise.
First had come the tracing up of his family in America, a tedious enough job, leading him eventually to Brussels.
His arrival in London had brought further business in its train, interviewing solicitors; producing the proofs collected through months of research; answering endless, and what appeared to him totally irrelevant, questions. Next there had been waiting,—waiting in shabby little rooms in Chelsea, when he beguiled the weary hours by walks on the Embankment, in Battersea Park, or on Hampstead Heath, anywhere away from the interminable hum of traffic, from the ceaseless stream of people.
More than once he had asked himself what on earth he had done it for? Why he had left the quiet, the sunshine, the colour, the wide spaces of the veldt, for the noise, the fog, the greyness, the confinement of London. More than once he had called himself a fool for his pains, cursed the day idleness had taken him to rummage in the old chest in the storeroom.
Then, the swing of the pendulum lifting him towards the anticipation of fulfilled hope, his gloom would be dispelled. After all, he would assure himself, it was his birthright for which he was enduring hardship. Only a fool or a weakling would have refused to take up the clue he had inadvertently discovered. Then, gloom once more overwhelming him, he would demand of himself: Was it his birthright? After all didn’t this same birthright lie in the wide untrammelled spaces of the veldt, the unconventional surroundings, the life of freedom? Wasn’t he attempting to exchange it for a mess of red pottage?
But, with the arrival of the long-looked-for document, legal phrases and all, doubts again dispersed. He had laboured, he had toiled, he had achieved. There was no question now about that birthright. It was his. He held it as surely in his grasp as he held that piece of foolscap paper.
Naturally the first thing to do was to go and have a look at it. He had refrained from so doing till his rights thereto had been assured. He bade a far from reluctant farewell to his shabby rooms, and a not overclean landlady, took the train forthwith to Whortley, arrived at Malford, and the Green Man.
And then gradually, imperceptibly, all his doubts had returned, returned, too, in so subtle a manner, that he hardly recognized them for doubts. He was merely bewildered, non-understanding of himself.
It seemed to him totally absurd that he should not be entirely delighted at the thought of his inheritance, yet, if the truth be known, it was beginning to hang like a somewhat weighty millstone round his neck. And the exceeding simple solution of cutting the string that held it there, never dawned upon him.