His purpose, however, remained unshaken, and immediately after the early dinner he went out without saying anything to his uncle, and could not be found when the hour came for their weekly pilgrimage to Littlecomb. After waiting some time, and vainly bellowing his name, the farmer was obliged to go without him.
Richard was in a very taciturn mode at the evening meal, and his uncle’s announcement that Mrs. F. had inquired why he had not come and remarked that she saw nothing of him nowadays, did not render him more inclined for conversation. After supper, too, instead of smoking quietly, he sat fidgeting in his chair for a few minutes, and then, rising hastily, fell to pacing about the room.
‘You seem mortal onaisy this evening,’ remarked the farmer, after these perambulations had continued some time. ‘Sit down, and light up like a decent Christian.’
He pushed forward a chair invitingly with his foot, and Richard took it and drew his pipe from his pocket.
Ugh! How hot and stuffy it was in this kitchen, where, in spite of the warm weather, a fire was blazing! The windows had not been opened all day, he felt sure; the odour of their recent repast still lingered in the air, mingled with the fumes of the particularly rank pipe which his uncle was then enjoying. He thought of the cool twilight without, of the downs with the fresh breeze blowing across them, of the path beside the hedge that led to Littlecomb, of the garden there—the garden where the thrush was singing, and where the roses and syringa were in full bloom. Ah, he could picture to himself the syringa with its white blossoms shining like pale lamps amid the dusky boughs. The garden still, and sweet, and dewy—where she was wandering at this hour!
‘Light up, man,’ said Isaac, pointing to Richard’s pipe.
His nephew obeyed, but held it absently between his fingers.
Isaac poked the blazing logs with his foot and bent forward, extending his hands to the glow; his big red face looked unnaturally large through the surrounding haze of smoke. Richard half rose from his chair, and then sank back again. Outside, came the tantalising thought again, outside—a few paces away, were the downs and the lonely path through the fields, and then the garden.
The farmer was slowly nodding in the comfortable radiance. Richard’s unused pipe had gone out. The garden! The garden!
Suddenly he rose from his chair, strode across the room, flung open the door, and was gone before his uncle had time to do more than turn his head.