The Old Town, lying below, with its lamps lit, was like a picture from some old romance. Moonlight lay tenderly on the graves round All Saints’ Church on the side of the East Hill. The ruins of Hastings Castle stood out rugged and bold.
On all this the eyes of the soldier rested in turn, but he saw no beauty in any of it. Rage filled his heart.
It was after eleven o’clock when he at last made his way down the steep path that led home.
Two or three days passed miserably after this, two or three days in which he had never visited the dear fireside at Hawk’s Nest; two or three days in which neither Mrs. Barrimore nor Uncle Robert had seen him, though they had both called.
On the evening of the fourth day he relented and made his way to Hawk’s Nest.
It was after dinner.
A fierce wind was blowing, the sea roared on the shingle.
Entering the familiar dining-room, where Mrs. Barrimore and Mr. Burns still lingered, a sense of relief came over the Colonel. It lasted but for a moment, for he was followed into the room—by Philip.
Philip looked haggard and worn. The mother flew to him with outstretched arms.
“Philip! oh, Philip!” she cried.