"My late master talked to me long and often, my lady," he said; "many of my ideas and much of my philosophy are borrowed from him. I have made a practice of observing people, even as he does.
And I rather think that he would term your ladyship's arrival here as an escape."
"And why did you leave your master, William?"
"His life is such, at the moment, my lady, that my services are of little use to him.
We decided I would do better elsewhere."
"And so you came to Navron?"
"Yes, my lady."
"And lived alone and hunted moths?"
"Your ladyship is correct."
"So that Navron is also, possibly, an escape for you as well?"
"Possibly, my lady."
"And your late master, what does he do with himself?"
"He travels, my lady."
"He makes voyages from place to place?"
"Exactly, my lady."
"Then he also, William, is a fugitive.
People who travel are always fugitives."
"My master has often made the same observation, my lady.
In fact I may say his life is one continual escape."
"How pleasant for him," said Dona, peeling her fruit; "the rest of us can only run away from time to time, and however much we pretend to be free, we know it is only for a little while - our hands and our feet are tied."
"Just so, my lady."
"And your master - he has no ties at all?"
"None whatever, my lady."
"I would like to meet your master, William."
"I think you would have much in common, my lady."
"Perhaps one day he will pass this way, on his travels?"
"Perhaps, my lady."
"In fact, I will withdraw my command about visitors, William.
Should your late master ever call, I will not feign illness or madness or any other disease, I will receive him."
"Very good, my lady."
And looking round, for she was standing now, and he had pulled away her chair, she saw that he was smiling, but instantly his smile was gone, when he met her eyes, and his mouth was pursed in its usual button.
She wandered into the garden.
The air was soft and languid and warm, and away to the west the sun flung great patterns across the sky She could hear the voices of the children as Prue put them to bed.
It was a time for going forth alone, a time for walking.
And fetching a shawl and throwing it across her shoulders she went out of the garden and across the parkland to a stile, and a field, and a muddied lane, and the lane brought her to a cart-track, and the cart-track to a great stretch of rough wild grass, of uncultivated heath land, leading to the cliffs and the sea.
She had the urge within her to walk then to the sea, to the open sea itself, not the river even, and as the evening cooled and the sun sank in the sky, she came at length to a sloping headland where the gulls clamoured furiously at her approach, for it was the nesting season, and flinging herself down on the tussocky earth and the scrubby stones of the headland she looked out upon the sea.
There was the river, away to the left, wide and shining as it met the sea, and the sea itself was still and very calm, while the setting sun dappled the water with copper and crimson.
Down below, far and deep, the little waves splashed upon the rocks.
The setting sun behind her made a pathway on the sea, stretching to the far horizon, and as Dona lay and watched, her mind all drowsy and content, her heart at peace, she saw a smudge on the horizon, and presently the smudge took shape and form, and she saw the white sails of a ship.
For a while it made no progress, for there was no breath upon the water, and it seemed to hang there, between sea and sky, like a painted toy.
She could see the high poop-deck, and the fo'c'sle head, and the curious raking masts, and the men upon her must have had luck with their fishing for a crowd of gulls clustered around the ship, wheeling and crying, and diving to the water.
Presently a little tremor of a breeze came off the headland where Dona lay, and she saw the breeze ruffle the waves below her, and travel out across the sea towards the waiting ship.
Suddenly the sails caught the breeze and filled, they bellied out in the wind, lovely and white and free, the gulls rose in a mass, screaming above the masts, the setting sun caught the painted ship in a gleam of gold, and silently, stealthily, leaving a long dark ripple behind her, the ship stole in towards the land.
And a feeling came upon Dona, as though a hand touched her heart, and a voice whispered in her brain,
"I shall remember this."
A premonition of wonder,' of fear, of sudden strange elation.
She turned swiftly, smiling to herself for no reason, humming a little tune, and strode back across the hills to Navron House, skirting the mud and jumping the ditches like a child, while the sky darkened, and the moon rose, and the night wind whispered in the tall trees.
CHAPTER V
She went to bed as soon as she returned, for the walk had tired her, and she fell asleep almost at once, in spite of the curtains drawn wide, and the shining moon.
And then, just after midnight it must have been, for subconsciously she had heard the stable clock strike the hour, she was awake, aware of a footstep that had crunched the gravel beneath her window.