was left upstairs in another room with Anna. She tried
to coax him to talk with her but he had relapsed again into resolute
silence. Then his grandmother came up, and told him that they were going
to Dynehurst at once, and that he should have a new pony, and any kind
of dog that he liked.

He said, "Thank you," civilly, but nothing more. His face had reddened
as his grandmother spoke--with pleasure she thought. Yes ... ponies and
dogs were a sure way to a boy's heart. She felt quite complacent and
encouraged. The boy would be easier to manage than she had dared hope,
after the frightful incidents of the journey.

Bobby had flushed because when she said that they were going to
Dynehurst that afternoon, the thought had leaped to him: "I can get out
of the house to-night, and buy a ticket to London at the station." Once
in London he thought that it would be easy to get back to Venice.
Perhaps Mr. Surtees would be his friend. Yes, he had better trust Mr.
Surtees. But again, no--he was not sure about that. What he was sure
about was that he could get out of the house that night and find his way
to the station. It did not occur to him that the station-master might be
unwilling to sell him a ticket to London.

That same night--the night that Sophy spent so miserably on the express
that was taking her to him--he managed to dress himself and find his way
out of the huge house without rousing any one. One of the housemaids had
been sent to stay in the dressing-room next his, but she was a sound,
healthy sleeper, and did not hear the boy's cautious movements. He crept
downstairs in his stocking-feet, boots in hand. His overcoat had been
put away. He went out into the dark, chill, misty night, dressed only in
thin serge. At first he could see nothing, then bit by bit the shrubbery
and trees revealed themselves ink on inky-grey. The crunching of the
gravel helped him to find his way. His heart thumped sickeningly but
high. He was free, free! On his way back to his mother. When he had
groped some fifty yards from the house, he sat down on the ground to put
on his boots. As he laced them he looked wrathfully back at the black
mass of the grim old house. Two lighted hall windows in the floor above,
and the lighted glass above the front door, gave it the appearance of a
huge staring face, with luminous mouth and eyes. It seemed glowering at
him like an ogre. He scrambled up, feeling rather queer and little in
the lap of the dark, emp