“Ay, to be sure, this hour past.” Which of course was not true, but many things that were not true were being said in Aldersbury that day. “And nothing else to be expected, I am told, though there’s nobody blames you, sir. You can’t put old heads on young shoulders, asking your pardon, sir, as I said to Mrs. Brown no more than an hour ago. It was her Johnny told me—he came that way from school and stopped to look. Such a sight of people on Bride Hill, he said, as he never saw in his life, ’cept on Show Day, and the shutters going up just as he came away.” He did not doubt the story—he knew that there was no other end to be expected. “I am only just from London,” he said, feeling that some explanation of his ignorance was necessary. “I had no sleep last night, Mrs. Bowles, and I sat down for a moment, and I suppose I fell asleep in my chair.” “Indeed, and no wonder. From London, to be sure! Can I bring you anything up, sir?” “No, thank you, Mrs. Bowles. I shall have to go out presently, and until I go out, don’t let me be disturbed. I’m not at home if any one calls. You understand?” “I understand, sir.” And on the stairs, as she descended, a pile of plates and dishes in her arms, “Poor young gentleman,” she murmured, “it’s done him no good. And some in my place would be thinking of their bill. But his people will see me paid. That’s where the gentry come in—they’re never the losers, whoever fails.” For a few minutes after she had retired he dawdled about the room, staring through the window without seeing anything, revolving the news, and telling himself, but no longer with passion, that the game was played out. And gradually the idea of flight grew upon him, and the longing to be in some place where he could hide his head, where he might let himself go and pity himself unwatched. Had his pockets been full he would have returned to London and lost himself in its crowds, and presently, he thought—for he still believed in himself—he would have shown the world what he could do. But he had spent his loose cash on the journey, he was almost without money, and instinct as well as necessity turned his thoughts towards his mother. The notion once accepted grew upon him, and he longed to be at the Cottage. He felt that there he might be quiet, that there no one would watch him, and stealthily—on fire to be gone now that he had made up his mind—he sought for his hat and coat and let himself out of the house. There was no one in sight, and descending from the Town Wall by some steps, he crossed the meadows to the river. He passed the water by a ferry, and skirting the foot of the rising ground on the other side, he presently struck into the Garthmyle road a little beyond the West Bridge.