This eBook was produced by Dagny,
and David Widger
TWO days after the interview recorded in the last chapter of theprevious Book, Travers, chancing to call at Kenelm's lodgings, wastold by his servant that Mr. Chillingly had left London, alone, andhad given no orders as to forwarding letters. The servant did notknow where he had gone, or when he would return.
Travers repeated this news incidentally to Cecilia, and she feltsomewhat hurt that he had not written her a line respecting Tom'svisit. She, however, guessed that he had gone to see the Somerses,and would return to town in a day or so. But weeks passed, the seasondrew to its close, and of Kenelm Chillingly she saw or heard nothing:he had wholly vanished from the London world. He had but written aline to his servant, ordering him to repair to Exmundham and await himthere, and enclosing him a check to pay outstanding bills.
We must now follow the devious steps of the strange being who hasgrown into the hero of this story. He had left his apartment atdaybreak long before his servant was up, with his knapsack, and asmall portmanteau, into which he had thrust—besides such additionalarticles of dress as he thought he might possibly require, and whichhis knapsack could not contain—a few of his favourite books. Drivingwith these in a hack-cab to the Vauxhall station, he directed theportmanteau to be forwarded to Moleswich, and flinging the knapsack onhis shoulders, walked slowly along the drowsy suburbs that stretchedfar into the landscape, before, breathing more freely, he found someevidences of rural culture on either side of the high road. It wasnot, however, till he had left the roofs and trees of pleasantRichmond far behind him that he began to feel he was out of reach ofthe metropolitan disquieting influences. Finding at a little inn,where he stopped to breakfast, that there was a path along fields, andin sight of the river, through which he could gain the place of hisdestination, he then quitted the high road, and traversing one of theloveliest districts in one of our loveliest counties, he reachedMoleswich about noon.
ON entering the main street of the pretty town, the name of Somers, ingilt capitals, was sufficiently conspicuous over the door of a veryimposing shop. It boasted two plate-glass windows, at one of whichwere tastefully exhibited various articles of fine stationery,embroidery patterns, etc.; at the other, no less tastefully, sundryspecimens of ornamental basket-work.
Kenelm crossed the threshold and recognized behind the counter—fairas ever, but with an expression of face more staid, and a figure morerounded and matron-like—his old friend Jessie. There were two orthree customers before her, between whom she was dividing herattention. While a handsome young lady, seated, was saying, in asomewhat loud but cheery and pleasant voice, "Do not mind me, Mrs.Somers: I can wait," Jessie's quick eye darted towards the stranger,but too rapidly to distinguish his features, which, indeed, he turnedaway, and began to examine the baskets.
In a minute or so the other customers were served and had departed;and the voice of the lady was again heard, "Now, Mrs. Somers, I wantto see your picture-books and toys. I am giving a little children'sparty this afternoon, and I want to make them as happy as possible."
"Somewhere or other, on this planet, or before my Monad was whiskedaway to it, I have heard that voice," muttered Kenelm. While Jessiewas alertly bringing forth her toys and