"I shall be ready in half an hour," she said, with a faint smile, as though she were pleased at my ready acquiescence. Then she left the room to get ready. In about the time she had mentioned she came into the garden to me and we started on our walk. It was a very uneventful one, but I don't think that I shall ever forget it. My mother seemed, after her brief relapse into comparative kindness, to have become more inaccessible than ever; and she walked along by my side, with downcast eyes and a nervous, thoughtful expression on her pale face. I, too, felt somewhat depressed at starting, but soon the fresh, pure air, becoming stronger and stronger as we left the road and followed the footpath by Beacon Hill, had its invariable effect upon my spirits. All perplexing thoughts and forebodings of trouble passed away from me like magic, and my heart beat and the blood flowed through my veins with all the impetuous ardour of sanguine youth. At the top of the hill we paused, I to look round upon my favourite scene, my mother to rest for a moment. Then we saw how great had been the storm of the night before. Here and there were the bare trunks of trees and many a cattle-shed and barn stood roofless. The storm seemed to have worked havoc everywhere, save where, on the summit of its wooded hill, Ravenor Castle, with its great range of mighty battlements, its vast towers, and grey walls of invincible thickness, frowned down upon the country at its feet. Looking across at it, it seemed to me that the place had never seemed so imposing as then. My mother stood by my side and noticed my intent gaze. "You admire Ravenor Castle very much, Philip?" she said quietly. I withdrew my eyes with an effort. "I do, mother," I confessed; "very much indeed. The place has a sort of fascination for me--and the man who lives there!" My mother had turned a little away from me and stood with face upturned to heaven and mutely moving lips. Out of her eyes I could see the tears slowly welling, and her tall slim figure was convulsed with sobs. I sprang to her side and caught hold of her hand. "What is it, mother?" I cried. "Tell me!" She shook her head sadly. "Not now, Philip--not now. Come, let us go!" Side by side we began to descend the hill. Our path wound around several freshly-planted spinneys and then led through a plantation of pine-trees. Then we turned with regret, so far as I was concerned, into the muddy road again and walked for more than a mile between high, straight hedges. At last, soon after mid-day, we turned to the left, passed through a farmyard and along a winding path, which led us, now by the side of turnip fields, now across bracken-covered open country, to the summit of our last hill.