Emmy turned impatiently and, walking on, waved him away; but he accompanied
her mechanically.

"Oh, don't follow me," she cried in a queer voice. "Leave me alone, for
God's sake. I'm not going to commit suicide. I wish to heaven I had the
pluck."

"But if you're not going to do that, why on earth are you here?"

"I'm taking a stroll before breakfast--just like yourself. Why am I here?
If you really want to know," she added defiantly, "I'm going to London--by
the early train from Hensham--the milk train. See, I'm respectable. I have
my luggage." She swung something in the dark before him and he perceived
that it was a handbag. "Now are you satisfied? Or do you think I was going
to take a handkerchief and a powder puff into the other world with me? I'm
just simply going to London--nothing more."

"But it's a seven-mile walk to Hensham."

She made no reply, but quickened her pace. Septimus, in a whirl of doubt
and puzzledom, walked by her side, still holding his cap in his hand. Even
the intelligence of the local policeman would have connected her astounding
appearance on the common with the announcement in the _Globe_. He took that
for granted. But if she were not about to destroy herself, why this
untimely flight to London? Why walk seven miles in wintry darkness when she
could have caught a train at Ripstead (a mile away) a few hours later, in
orthodox comfort? It was a mystery, a tragic and perplexing mystery.

They passed by the pond in silence, crossed the common and reached the main