’I have decided to go down to Budleigh Salterton when the time comes.’

‘That’s right!’ exclaimed her brother, with satisfaction.  ’You couldn’t do better—­couldn’t possibly.  It will be a very good thing for you in several ways.’

And each withdrew to brood over a perturbing secret.

CHAPTER III

Three or four years ago, when already he had conceived the idea of trying his fortune in some provincial town, Peak persuaded himself that it would not be difficult to make acquaintances among educated people, even though he had no credentials to offer.  He indulged his fancy and pictured all manner of pleasant accidents which surely, sooner or later, must bring him into contact with families of the better sort.  One does hear of such occurrences, no doubt.  In every town there is some one or other whom a stranger may approach:  a medical man—­a local antiquary—­a librarian—­a philanthropist; and with moderate advantages of mind and address, such casual connections may at times be the preface to intimacy, with all resulting benefits.  But experience of Exeter had taught him how slight would have been his chance of getting on friendly terms with any mortal if he had depended solely on his personal qualities.  After a nine months’ residence, and with the friendship of such people as the Warricombes, he was daily oppressed by his isolation amid this community of English folk.  He had done his utmost to adopt the tone of average polished life.  He had sat at the tables of worthy men, and conversed freely with their sons and daughters; he exchanged greetings in the highways:  but this availed him nothing.  Now, as on the day of his arrival, he was an alien—­a lodger.  What else had he ever been, since boyhood?  A lodger in Kingsmill, a lodger in London, a lodger in Exeter.  Nay, even as a boy he could scarcely have been said to ‘live at home’, for from the dawn of conscious intelligence he felt himself out of place among familiar things and people, at issue with prevalent opinions.  Was he never to win a right of citizenship, never to have a recognised place among men associated in the dunes. and pleasures of life?

Sunday was always a day of weariness and despondency, and at present he suffered from the excitement of his conversation with Sidwell, followed as it had been by a night of fever.  Extravagant hope had given place to a depression which could see nothing beyond the immediate gloom.  Until mid-day he lay in bed.  After dinner, finding the solitude of his little room intolerable, he went out to walk in the streets.

Not far from his door some children had gathered in a quiet corner, and were playing at a game on the pavement with pieces of chalk.  As he drew near, a policeman, observing the little group, called out to them in a stern voice: 

’Now then! what are you doing there?  Don’t you know what day it is?’