The house, even the lovely landscape smiling under his windows, the
pastoral valley, smooth lake and willowy island, seemed hateful to him.
He felt himself hemmed round by those green hills, by yonder brown and
rugged wall of Nabb Scar, stifled for want of breathing space. The
landscape was lovely enough, but it was like a beautiful grave. He
longed to get away from it.
'Another man would follow her to St. Bees,' he said. 'I will not.'
He flung a few things into a Gladstone bag, sat down, and wrote a brief
note to Maulevrier, asking him to make his excuses to her ladyship. He
had made up his mind to go to Keswick that afternoon, and would rejoin
his friend to-morrow, at Carlisle. This done, he rang for Maulevrier's
valet, and asked that person to look after his luggage and bring it on
to Scotland with his master's things; and then, without a word of adieu
to anyone, John Hammond went out of the house, with the Gladstone bag in
his hand, and shook the dust of Fellside off his feet.
He ordered a fly at the Prince of Wales's Hotel, and drove to Keswick,
whence he went on to the Lodore.
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