rooms in the farmhouse I concluded to go down again for a few days.

It was late, deep dusk, when I got out at our little country station. My
eyes fell on the unmistakable broad back and the muscular legs in cycling
stockings of little Fyne. He passed along the carriages rapidly towards
the rear of the train, which presently pulled out and left him solitary
at the end of the rustic platform. When he came back to where I waited I
perceived that he was much perturbed, so perturbed as to forget the
convention of the usual greetings. He only exclaimed Oh! on recognizing
me, and stopped irresolute. When I asked him if he had been expecting
somebody by that train he didn't seem to know. He stammered
disconnectedly. I looked hard at him. To all appearances he was
perfectly sober; moreover to suspect Fyne of a lapse from the proprieties
high or low, great or small, was absurd. He was also a too serious and
deliberate person to go mad suddenly. But as he seemed to have forgotten
that he had a tongue in his head I concluded I would leave him to his
mystery. To my surprise he followed me out of the station and kept by my
side, though I did not encourage him. I did not however repulse his
attempts at conversation. He was no longer expecting me, he said. He
had given me up. The weather had been uniformly fine--and so on. I
gathered also that the son of the poet had curtailed his stay somewhat
and gone back to his ship the day before.

That information touched me but little. Believing in heredity in
moderation I knew well how sea-life fashions a man outwardly and stamps
his soul with the mark of a certain prosaic fitness--because a sailor is
not an adventurer. I expressed no regret at missing Captain Anthony and
we proceeded in silence till, on approaching the holiday cottage, Fyne
suddenly and unexpectedly broke it by the hurried declaration that he
would go on with me a little farther.