The bells struck again from the town; he rose and stood, an enormous dark figure, against the flaming sky. There was perfect stillness save for the very gentle rustle of the corn. In the silence the stars came out one by one, the colours were drawn back like threads from the pale blue, and across the sea only the faintest gold remained; a tiny white moon hung above the white houses and the white road, the rest of the world was grey. The lights began to shine from the town. He was cold and his limbs ached; the dim light, the mysterious hour began to press about him. He had a sudden wish, a sudden demand for company, people, lights, noise. Not people to talk to, of course; no, he did not want anyone to talk to, but here, in this silence, with the mysterious rustling corn, he was nervous, uneasy. He did not want to think about anything, all that he wanted now was to forget. He could not think; his brain refused, and there was no reason why he should bother. To-morrow—to-morrow would do. He stumbled down the path through the field; he could not see very well, and he nearly fell several times over the small stones in his path; he cursed loudly. Then he found the hard white road and walked quickly down, past the little white houses, over the bridge that crossed the river, up into the town. His need for company increased with every step that he took; the loneliness, the half light, the cold breeze were melancholy. He turned his head several times because he thought that some one was following him, but only the white road gleamed behind him, and the hedges, dark barriers, on either side. The lights of the town came to him as a glad relief. They were not very brilliant; in the first streets of all the lamps were very wide apart, and in between their dim splashes of yellow were caverns of inky blackness. These streets were almost deserted, and the few people that passed hurried as though they were eager to reach some more cheerful spot. Very few lamps burnt behind the windows, but Maradick felt as though the houses were so many eyes eagerly watching him. Everything seemed alive, and every now and again his ear caught, he fancied, the sound of a measured tread in his rear. He stopped, but there was perfect silence. His exultation had absolutely left him. He felt miserably depressed and lonely. It seemed to him now that he had cut off his two friends with a sudden blow for no reason at all. Mrs. Lester would never speak to him again. Tony, on his return, would be furious with him for not being there according to his solemn promise. Lady Gale and Alice Du Cane would lose all their trust in him; his wife would never rest until she had found out where he had been that night, and would never believe it if she did find out. He now saw how foolish he had been not to go back to the hotel for dinner; he would go back now if it were not too late; but it was too late. They would have finished by the time that he was up the hill again.