There is such a thing as a bad man’s frenzy, and it is best to draw the veil over it. Tarbot had wild ideas at first of rushing after Clara and murdering her on the spot in order to secure her silence, but as each futile thought swept through his brain he pushed it away as hopeless and impracticable. After a couple of hours of thought which no one need envy him, he went with stealthy and quick movements to pack a few belongings into his Gladstone bag. From his house he rushed to his bank, drew what balance he possessed there, and took the morning train to the Continent. He had the sense to see that his game was up. There was nothing whatever for him but flight. CHAPTER XXXVI. SIR PIERS. It occurred to little Sir Piers that it would be a good thing if now, that he was quite well, he went home. As no one was inclined to take him, he thought he would go by himself. That would not be exactly breaking his secret, for surely if he were well he might go home to his mother and to Dick and to Barbara. He thought the matter over in the puzzled and yet wise way of seven years old. He did not wish to be unkind to his nurse or unkind to grannie, but, all the same, it seemed to him only fair that he should at least see the old place again, and behold his mother, if even at a distance, and see Barbara, the lady with the starry brown eyes, and Dick, the hero of his boyish dreams. So when Mrs. Ives went to London Piers quickly made up his mind. He had no money, but he had a shrewd wit, a brave spirit, and a gentleman’s heart. When darkness fell he left the cottage and walked quickly up the high road. Piers was dressed by Clara’s orders just as any other peasant boy. He wore a shabby blouse, much worn knickerbockers, and socks which revealed his bare legs above them. His socks were blue, coarse homespun, his shoes were also coarse, and just what a village boy would wear. But, though Clara and her mother disguised the lad in these clothes, they could not take away his gallant figure, his beautiful face, his dancing eyes, and his classical features. They could not take away a certain personality which raised him above the common herd. Still, in the dusk no one would specially notice these things, and a village boy wandering about was not likely to attract attention. He walked he did not know where, for a very long time. He was under the impression that he was going in the direction of Devonshire. Whenever he met any one he asked where Devonshire was, and as a rule the person spoken to pointed in a certain direction, and Piers walked on.