e, not
the beginning of a new volume. In the background of my thoughts there
was always Chelsea, though I affected to forget it. Meantime, in the
foreground, there was a good deal to make even Chelsea attractive by
comparison.

We made our way slowly along the grimy road, with its rows of
monotonously uninteresting warehouses, and its endless drays filled
with the city's merchandise. When the warehouses ended the grime
remained. We passed street after street of brick-built cottages, over
which spread a canopy of smoke from a hundred factory chimneys. When
the country was reached--if the bleak and sad-looking fields could be
called country--the mill chimneys were just as evident. They were
everywhere, even on the horizon, and my spirits sank. The villages
through which we passed were just suburbs, with the thumb-print of the
city on them all. Every cottage, every villa, spoke of the mill or the
shop. As we neared the terminus I found to my dismay that so far from
leaving these things behind we were entering a prosperous-looking
little town which was just Airlee on a smaller scale, with its full
quota of smoke-producing factories. How I blamed myself for following
the advice of the young workman and regretted that I had not trusted
the parson!

I had an early lunch at a confectioner's and then wandered, aimlessly
enough, up a quiet road which led away from the town and the
tram-lines. It was not very promising at first, but when I had passed
the last row of houses and found myself hemmed in by green, moss-grown
walls, my spirits rose. By and by I reached cross-roads and a broad,
white highway, which was manifestly one of the great arteries of this
thriving district. It had no attractions for me and I crossed it, and
continued my upward path. A sign-post told me that I was on my way to
Windyridge.

I was now in a rather pleasant country road, but one which certainly
could boast few attractions. Yet I was attracted, perhaps because I
could see so little in front of me, perhaps because I could not see a
single factory chimney, look where I would.

Fifteen minutes after leaving Fawkshill I had reached the brow of the
hill, and my spirits rose with a bound. Just in front of me, on a
rising knoll, some fine sycamores and beeches clustered together,
guarding the approach to a grey, ivy-coated hall. The rooks cawed
dismally in the highest branches of the sycamores, the leaves of which
were already beginning