u would if you'd come a little sooner."

"Ah! I'll go and find him."

"Yes, I should."

And off he went.

"It is really very pleasant," said Claudia, "to prevent Sir Roderick
finding out things that he wants to find out. I think it does me
credit--and it annoys him so very much. I will go and have a nice drive
with Mrs. Lane, and see some old women. I feel as if I ought to do
something proper."

And perhaps it was about time.

CHAPTER VIII

Stafford in Retreat, and Sir Roderick in Action.

When Stafford got into the train on his headlong flight from Millstead
Manor, he had no settled idea of his destination, and he arrived in
London without having made much progress toward a resolution. Not
knowing what he wanted, he could not decide where he was most likely to
find it. Did he want to forget or to think; to repent or to resolve?
This is the alternative that presents itself to a mind puzzled to know
whether its doubt is a concession to sin or a homage to reason. Stafford
had been bred in a school widely different from that which treats all
questions as open, and all to be referred to the verdict of the balance
of expediency. Among other lessons, he had been taught a deep distrust
of the instrument by which he was forced to guide his actions. But no
training had succeeded in eradicating a strong mind's instinct of
self-confidence, and if up till now he had committed no rebellion, it
was because his reason had been rather a voluntary and eager helper than
a captive or slave to the tribunal he distinguished from it by the name
of conscience. With some surprise at himself--a surprise that now took
the place of shame--he recognized that he was not ready to take
everything for granted, that he must know that what he was flying from
was in fact sin, not only that it might be. That it was sin he fully
believed, but he would be sure. So much triumph his passion extorted
from him as he paced irresolutely up and down the square in front of
Euston, after seeing Kate and Haddington safely away, while the porter
and cabman wondered why the traveler seemed not sure where he wanted to
go. Of their wonder and their irreverent suggestions he was supremely
careless.

No, he would not go back at once to his active work. Not only did his
health still forbid that--and, indeed, last night's struggle seemed to
him to have undone most of the good he had gained from the quiet of
Millstead--but, what was more, he believed, abov