So Wilbraham had thought and so he had acted, with a troubled longing for the time when he should once more be free of his own burden. But now he doubted. One thing was fairly clear. By going away Harry would be in touch again with Viola as he could not be at Royd. Wilbraham did not suppose that to be the sole or even the chief reason for his going away, but it had probably counted in his decision. Harry had ridden off on his horse, before dawn, probably some hours before dawn, for nothing had been seen of him in the country in which he was known. He had worn his oldest riding suit, and as far as could be said had taken scarcely anything with him. His short note to his grandmother, and longer letter to his mother had said that he was going to enlist, and it was supposed that he intended to offer himself and his horse to a cavalry regiment. He begged that no attempt should be made to follow or to stop him doing what he had fully made up his mind to. He would write in a few days, when affairs had been settled for him, but after that he would not write at all until he had won his commission in the field. He made no apology for taking the decision into his own hands, and offered no explanation of it. But it was plain that he meant to run no risk of being prevented from following out the course he had laid down for himself. Mrs. Brent had been full of lamentations. Lady Brent had taken it very calmly, though the shock it was to her had been apparent in the seriousness and sadness of her manner. A few inquiries were made as to whether Harry had been seen riding away, and then they had waited for his promised letter. It came on the fourth day, with a London postmark. He had been accepted for enlistment. He was in barracks, well and happy. His letter—to his mother—was of the shortest, but contained expressions of affection which did something to soothe her trouble. On the outside his action was that of a spirited boy who had made up his mind to go off and fight and was not to be hampered by the fears and objections of his elders. But to Wilbraham there was more in it than that. He thought that Harry might have made up his mind to the course he had taken if he had not met Viola, but that he would not have carried it out in quite the same way. Then, his mother and grandmother would have been the only people whom he had to consider. Now they hardly counted. He had acted, if not with want of kindness, still with something of the insensibility of youth towards the claims of its elders. They would not hear from him again for months, perhaps for years—though a lapse of years seemed unlikely at that time. But Viola would hear from him. It was hard on the older people who loved him. Wilbraham knew that it was bearing hardly upon Lady Brent. "I might find out something about him if I went to London," Wilbraham said, after neither of them had spoken for a time.