But it was good to strip himself of what might be called his uniform, don a grey suit and a soft hat, and, carrying a walking-stick, take the train to the little station by the shore. There followed a long walk for a tired man, but he was sure of a welcome at the end of it and, all the way, he had the company of the hills. On a Friday evening in July, a little less than a year, and for the fourth time, since he had first seen the place, he tapped at Clara's door. She opened to him, and he saw anxiety in her face. "Oh, come in," she said, and led him to the kitchen. "Jim's away, but Alexander'll be home soon. I wondered if you'd come, and your room's ready." "You don't look well." "I've a headache." "I'm sorry Rutherford's away. Perhaps you'd rather I went back to-night." "Of course not. I'm glad to see you, and so will Alexander be. And you do him good. He has no friends but you and Janet." "I'm fond of him," Edward Webb said simply. Moving in the sure strength that gave meaning to everything she did, she set the table for tea, then stood in the doorway and looked out and up towards the Spiked Crags, shading her eyes. She turned to him for an instant. "I shan't be long. Will you mind the kettle for me? Tell Alec I've only gone a little way." A few minutes later he heard Alexander's nailed boots in the passage, saw him enter quickly and look round the room, like a man who takes note of circumstances for the sake of safety. "Oh, you're there!" They shook hands. "I've been wishing for you," said Alexander. "Your mother has gone out for a little while. I was to tell you she was not going far." Alexander leaned against the mantelpiece, and his face was dark with anger. "She'll kill herself, tearing about the place, worrying her life out over him," he said in his monotonous tones. "And I'd as soon see him killed as a rat. Mr. Webb, I hate that man, my father." "My boy!" "I do. He's spoilt my life for me. We hate each other, but he hated me first." "There's more life before than behind you." "Perhaps, but I'll never be a boy again. I'll never have been young at all. I can't remember anything of him but his scowling face and his drinking fits." "There are worse men." "Who do less harm. I believe that." "Your mother cares for him." "You think that proves him good. It just proves nothing. And I wish she didn't. If she hadn't watched over him, he might have killed himself long ago. And now he's tired of getting quietly drunk, and he's gone off, and the devil knows where he's gone to. I believe he's mad, but I'll not be his gaoler. I'll neither look for him, nor be glad when he comes back; if I saw him walking straight for death, I'd not touch his coat-tails to keep him back." "Be quiet!" Edward Webb put up his hand, and there was command in his voice. "Tell me what's happened, and don't stain your mouth with talk like that."