return affect his mother more than his father? Could that doubtful
event suffice to rouse Hilda's fears to such a pitch? If the man came
back, he would come as a suppliant, entreating to be received once, at
least, on tolerance. He would come as a penitent prodigal might, to get
a word of compassion from his brother, perhaps to borrow money. He
could do no harm to any one, beyond the moral shame he brought upon his
relatives by prolonging his wretched existence. He was certainly not a
particularly dangerous person to Greif himself, and Hilda's warning had
been essentially personal, having no reference to any one else. He
could not understand it, and grew impatient again, realising how deeply
he had been impressed. The forest looked unusually gloomy, and added by
its melancholy solemnity to the depression of his spirits. He was glad
when he saw through the trees the smart wooden railway station with its
coloured signals, its metal roof, and its air of animation. He could
not help thinking that the effect was something like that once
produced upon him when he had come back to the University town from the
funeral of an eminent person whom he had never seen. He had been
obliged to attend the burial with the whole body of the students, and
had stood more than an hour in the churchyard before he could get away.
He remembered how unusually bright and lively the town had appeared to
him by contrast when he returned. Even the thought of Hilda could not
now make the recollection of his home a pleasant one, for Hilda herself
was intimately connected, by her last words, with the whole impression
of funereal gloominess from which the busy railway station furnished
him with the means of escape.




CHAPTER VI