of my long tramp to Bladesover House. The distance from Chatham is
almost exactly seventeen miles, and it took me until nearly one. It was
very interesting and I do not think I was very fatigued, though I got
rather pinched by one boot.

The morning must have been very clear, because I remember that near
Itchinstow Hall I looked back and saw the estuary of the Thames, that
river that has since played so large a part in my life. But at the time
I did not know it was the Thames, I thought this great expanse of mud
flats and water was the sea, which I had never yet seen nearly. And
out upon it stood ships, sailing ships and a steamer or so, going up to
London or down out into the great seas of the world. I stood for a long
time watching these and thinking whether after all I should not have
done better to have run away to sea.

The nearer I drew to Bladesover, the more doubtful I grew of the duality
of my reception, and the more I regretted that alternative. I suppose it
was the dirty clumsiness of the shipping I had seen nearly, that put me
out of mind of that. I took a short cut through the Warren across the
corner of the main park to intercept the people from the church. I
wanted to avoid meeting any one before I met my mother, and so I went to
a place where the path passed between banks, and without exactly hiding,
stood up among the bushes. This place among other advantages eliminated
any chance of seeing Lady Drew, who would drive round by the carriage
road.

Standing up to waylay in this fashion I had a queer feeling of
brigandage, as though I was some intrusive sort of bandit among these
orderly things. It is the first time I remember having that outlaw
feeling distinctly, a feeling that has played a large part in my