I discovered
that the room was almost bare of people, and realised by the
good-humoured glances of the few who remained that I appeared to be
more vacant than the room, and was making myself foolishly conspicuous
by remaining seated with my head in my hands and that far-away look in
my eyes which tells of "yonderliness."

To be quite candid, I am not quite sure that I _did_ find myself; I
suspect some tenant moved out and another moved in that afternoon, and
I am disposed to think that Airlee explains Windyridge. If I were to
attempt to put down in cold words what I heard or what I felt I should
fail, and it would seem very ordinary and uninspiring, so I shall not
make the attempt. But when I got outside, the noise of the busy city
grated on my senses, and the atmosphere--which was really not bad, for
the day was bright and sunny--seemed heavy and stifling. I longed for
something which I had not previously cared about; I did not understand
my yearnings--I do not yet--but I wanted to get away from the wooden
pavements, and the granite banks, and the brick warehouses, and the
huge hotels, and the smoke and bustle and din, and lay my head in the
lap of Nature, and think.

I slept a little, I am sure, but I tossed about a good deal in the cosy
little bed of the modest hotel where I took lodging, and when morning
came I found my Inner Self still harping on the same string, and more
vigorously than ever. Perhaps, if I had been sensible, I should have
gone straight to the station, and by this time have been going through
the old routine in Bloomsbury and Chelsea, instead of which I made my
way into the street after breakfast, and asked a kind-faced clergyman
which tramcar would take me farthest away from the turmoil. He was a
fatherly man, but his answers were so vague, and he seemed in so much
doubt of their reliability, that I disregarded them and accosted a
bright young workman who crossed the square a moment later. "A good
long ride?" he repeated; "right into the country, eh? Take this car
and go to the far end." With this he led me to one which bore the
fateful sign "Fawkshill."

It was a lovely day even in the city, warm but not muggy. When I had
found an outside seat at the extreme front of the upper deck of the
car, the greater part of which was covered, and redolent of tobacco
fumes, I made up my mind to enjoy the breeze and the experience. So
far as I knew it was just a parenthesis in a chapter of my lif