Another day, and he had done nothing whatever, but was still buoyed up by the reaction of visionary hope.  His need now was of communicating his change of purpose to some friendly hearer.  A week had passed since he had exchanged a word with anyone but Mrs. Roots, and converse he must.  Why not with Mr. Warricombe?  That was plainly the next step:  to see Martin and make known to him that after all he could not become a clergyman.  No need of hinting a conscientious reason.  At all events, nothing more definite than a sense of personal unfitness, a growing perception of difficulties inherent in his character.  It would be very interesting to hear Mr. Warricombe’s replies.

A few minutes after this decision was taken, he set off towards the Old Tiverton Road, walking at great speed, flourishing his stick—­ symptoms of the nervous cramp (so to speak) which he was dispelling.  He reached the house, and his hand was on the bell, when an unexpected opening of the door presented Louis Warricombe just coming forth for a walk.  They exchanged amiabilities, and Louis made known that his father and motherwere away on a visit to friends in Cornwall.

‘But pray come in,’ he added, offering to re-enter.

Peak excused himself, for it was evident that Louis made a sacrifice to courtesy.  But at that moment there approached from the garden Fanny Warricombe and her friend Bertha Lilywhite, eldest daughter of the genial vicar; they shook hands with Godwin, Fanny exclaiming: 

’Don’t go away, Mr. Peak.  Have a cup of tea with us—­Sidwell is at home.  I want to show you a strange sort of spleenwort that I gathered this morning.’

‘In that case,’ said her brother, smiling, ’I may confess that I have an appointment.  Pray forgive me for hurrying off, Mr. Peak.’

Godwin was embarrassed, but the sprightly girl repeated her summons, and he followed into the house.

CHAPTER V

Having led the way to the drawing-room, Fanny retired again for a few moments, to fetch the fern of which she had spoken, leaving Peak in conversation with little Miss Lilywhite.  Bertha was a rather shy girl of fifteen, not easily induced, under circumstances such as these, to utter more than monosyllables, and Godwin, occupied with the unforeseen results of his call, talked about the weather.  With half-conscious absurdity he had begun to sketch a theory of his own regarding rain-clouds and estuaries (Bertha listening with an air of the gravest attention) when Fanny reappeared, followed by Sidwell.  Peak searched the latter’s face for indications of her mood, but could discover nothing save a spirit of gracious welcome.  Such aspect was a matter of course, and he knew it.  None the less, his nervousness and the state of mind engendered by a week’s miserable solitude, tempted him to believe that Sidwell did not always wear that smile in greeting a casual caller.  This was the