CHAPTER VI

It may be surmised without fear of misconception that never during the
smooth course of his uneventful existence had Milbanke been so rudely
shaken into self-comprehension as by Hannah's unlooked-for onslaught.
Left to the placid guidance of unaided instinct, it is almost certain
that he would have left Orristown whenever the hour of departure
arrived, innocently unconscious that any parting pangs could be
attributed to a personal cause. It is possible that, with the passage
of time, he might have acknowledged that somewhere in the inner
recesses of his mind there was a shrine where one face, more changeful
and alluring than any other he had known, reigned in solitary state;
but beyond that tardy acknowledgment he would not have dared to
venture. Later still, perhaps, if circumstances had compelled him to
resign his guardianship over Clodagh in favour of some possible
husband, it is within the bounds of reason to conjecture that
understanding of his feelings might have come to him when, having said
good-bye to the young girl just crossing the threshold of life, he
returned to his home, newly and bitterly alive to his age and
loneliness. But now, in the light of present events, all such
suppositions had become valueless. As if by some powerful outside
pressure, his eyes had been opened, and he stood dazed and elated
before the new road that opened upon his vision.

His brain felt light and unsteady, his limbs were imbued with a
sensation of unaccustomed buoyancy as he turned, impelled by Hannah's
words, and moved across the yard towards the arched gateway. A
half-admitted, intoxicating sense of imminent action possessed him; and
as he walked forward it seemed that he scarcely felt the ground beneath
his feet.

Almost without volition, he passed from the stone-paved courtyard into
the sweep of gravelled pathway that fronted the house. For the first
time in his existence he was conscious of being borne forward on the
tide of his emotions; and the knowledge had an exhilarating, unbalanced
daring that suggested youth.

As though he feared the evaporation of his mood, he made no pause on
gaining the pathway, but went straight forward towards the house with a
haste and impetuosity very foreign to his formal nature. On his second
entry into the hall, he paid no heed to the chill desolation of the
place, but crossing the intervening space, began immediately to mount
the stairs.

Scarcely had he reac