But the analogy of the bundle was a superficial one.  Benham had not the slightest desire to lose it from his shoulders.  It would have inconvenienced him very greatly if he had done so.  It did not contain his sins.  Our sins nowadays are not so easily separated.  It contained a light, warm cape-coat he had bought in Switzerland and which he intended to wrap about him when he slept under the stars, and in addition Merkle had packed it with his silk pyjamas, an extra pair of stockings, tooth-brush, brush and comb, a safety razor. . . .  And there were several sheets of the Ordnance map.

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The urgency of getting away from something dominated Benham to the exclusion of any thought of what he might be getting to.  That muddle of his London life had to be left behind.  First, escape. . . .

Over the downs great numbers of larks were singing.  It was warm April that year and early.  All the cloud stuff in the sky was gathered into great towering slow-sailing masses, and the rest was blue of the intensest.  The air was so clean that Benham felt it clean in the substance of his body.  The chestnuts down the hill to the right were flowering, the beeches were luminously green, and the oaks in the valley foaming gold.  And sometimes it was one lark filled his ears, and sometimes he seemed to be hearing all the larks for miles about him.  Presently over the crest he would be out of sight of the grand stand and the men exercising horses, and that brace of red-jacketed golfers. . . .

What was he to do?

For a time he could think of nothing to do except to keep up and out of the valley.  His whole being seemed to have come to his surfaces to look out at the budding of the year and hear the noise of the birds.  And then he got into a long road from which he had to escape, and trespassing southward through plantations he reached the steep edge of the hills and sat down over above a great chalk pit somewhere near Dorking and surveyed all the tumbled wooded spaces of the Weald. . . .  It is after all not so great a country this Sussex, nor so hilly, from deepest valley to highest crest is not six hundred feet, yet what a greatness of effect it can achieve!  There is something in those downland views which, like sea views, lifts a mind out to the skies.  All England it seemed was there to Benham’s vision, and the purpose of the English, and his own purpose in the world.  For a long time he surveyed the large delicacy of the detail before him, the crests, the tree-protected houses, the fields and farmsteads, the distant gleams of water.  And then he became interested in the men who were working in the chalk pit down below.

They at any rate were not troubled with the problem of what to do with their lives.

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