off the bedclothes and locked the door. He dressed himself,
noticing, he fancied, with a deadly revulsion of feeling, that
his coat was a little too short in the sleeves, his waistcoat too
loose. In the midst of his dressing came Sheila bringing his
luncheon. 'I'm sorry,' he called out, stooping quickly beside the
bed, 'I can't talk now. Please put the tray down.'

About half an hour afterwards he heard the outer door close, and
peeping from behind the curtains saw his wife go out. All was
drowsily quiet in the house. He devoured his lunch like a
schoolboy. That finished to the last crumb, without a moment's
delay he covered his face with a towel, locked the door behind
him, put the key in his pocket, and ran lightly downstairs. He
stuffed the towel into an ulster pocket, put on a soft,
wide-brimmed hat, and noiselessly let himself out. Then he turned
with an almost hysterical delight and ran--ran like the wind,
without pausing, without thinking, straight on, up one turning,
down another, until he reached a broad open common, thickly
wooded, sprinkled with gorse and hazel and may, and faintly
purple with fading heather. There he flung himself down in the
beautiful sunlight, among the yellowing bracken, to recover his
breath.

He lay there for many minutes, thinking almost with composure.
Flight, it seemed, had for the moment quietened the demands of
that other feebly struggling personality which was beginning to
insinuate itself into his consciousness, which had so
miraculously broken in and taken possession of his body. He would
not think now. All he needed was a little quiet and patience
before he threw off for good and all his right to be free, to be