"You must own for yourself that
this case is exceptional. Let us go down to the Vicarage and inquire
about it."
"I shall do nothing of the sort," Wingrave answered. "Nor will you! Do
you see the spray coming over the cliffs there? The sea must be worth
watching."
Aynesworth walked by his side in silence. He dared not trust himself
to speak. Wingrave climbed with long, rapid strides to the summit of
the headland, and stood there with his face turned seawards. The long
breakers were sweeping in from the Atlantic with a low, insistent
roar; as far as the eye could reach the waves were crusted with white
foam. Every now and then the spray fell around the two men in a little
dazzling shower; the very atmosphere was salt. About their heads the
seagulls whirled and shrieked. From the pebbled beach to the horizon
there was nothing to break the monotony of that empty waste of waters.
Wingrave stood perfectly motionless, with his eyes fixed upon the
horizon. Minute after minute passed, and he showed no signs of moving.
Aynesworth found himself presently engaged in watching him. Thoughts
must be passing through his brain. He wondered what they were. It was
here that he had spent his boyhood; barely an hour ago the two men had
stood before the picture of his father. It was here, if anywhere, that
he might regain some part of his older and more natural self. Was it a
struggle, he wondered, that was going on within the man? There were no
signs of it in his face.
Pages:
56
57
58
59
60
61
62
63
64
65
66
67
68
69
70
71
72
73
74
75
76
77
78
79
80