A month ago there had been nothing he desired beyond the open road; now his face was turned London-wards. Why? Again that inevitable "Why."
The country-side was evidently no place for a man who would seek quiet and a day's delight. It seemed capable of providing a veritable orgy of incident. George Borrow was right after all.
After half an hour's sauntering, he was glad to rest on a wayside stone-heap. There was plenty of time, he told himself, and no need to hurry. Again, it was pleasant sitting by the road-side, listening to the birds and watching the life of the hedges. He had become conscious of a strange lassitude, and a still stranger inclination on the part of his legs to double up beneath him. His head, too, seemed to be behaving quite unreasonably. There were curious buzzings in his ears, and every now and then a momentary giddiness assailed him. What if Tallis should prove right after all, that he really was totally unfit for more than a mile or two?
As if to disprove such a suggestion he rose and continued his way, telling himself that as he became more accustomed to the exercise, these little manifestations of reluctance on the part of his legs and head would disappear.
At the end of three hours he had covered about two miles. The rests had been more frequent, and the distances covered between them shorter. It now became too obvious for argument or doubt that he was in no fit state for the high-road. In a way he
