ind your way back without me,
there's a good fellow. By the way," he added, "I'm sorry to have spoilt
your day; I'm afraid you've had no luncheon. But you'll be back in
Schleppenheim in time to get some. Look here, would you mind saying to
my wife that--that I've walked a little further than you cared to go, or
something of that sort, and that I'll be back at dinner time?"

"Very well," said Wentworth, hesitatingly. "She is not likely to be
anxious, is she?" he said dubiously. "I mean, at your being away so
long. She won't be alarmed, will she?"

"Oh no," said Rendel. "That is to say, if you don't alarm her." And then
looking up and seeing Wentworth's anxious expression, so very unlike the
usual one, "And you needn't be alarmed yourself, Jack; I'm not going to
do anything desperate," he said, forcing a smile; "that's not in my
line."

"No, no, of course not," Wentworth said, with a sort of air of being
entirely at his ease. And then reading in Rendel's face how the one
thing he longed for was to be alone, he said abruptly, "All right, then,
we shall meet later," and strode off the way he had come.

What a solution it would have been, Rendel felt, if he had indeed been
able to make up his mind to the step that Wentworth evidently thought he
might be contemplating--what an answer to everything! and as again that
burning recollection came over him he felt that, in spite of the courage
required for suicide, it would have required less courage to put himself
out of the world, beyond the possibility of its ever happening again,
than to remain in it and face what other agony of humiliation Fate might
have in store for him. But he was not alone, unfortunately; his own
destiny was not the only one in question. And if his words, his
intention, his faith in the future had meant anything at all when he
told Rachel that there was no sacrifice he would not be ready to make
for her, he was bound to go on doggedly and meet the worst. He walked
aimlessly through the wood, higher and higher, until he reached a sort
of clearing from which he could see, far below him, the white road
winding back again to Schleppenheim, and presently as he looked he saw
driving rapidly back in the direction of the town the open carriages
containing the people he had just left. Stamfordham must be in one of
them. What were they saying about him, those people? Or, if not saying,
what were they thinking? Could he ever look one of them in the face
again? No