Edwin proceeded towards the town, absorbed in a vision of his father
seated in the dining-room, inexpressibly melancholy, and Maggie with her
white apron bending over him to offer some nice soup. It was a
desolating vision--and yet he wondered why it should be! Whenever he
reasoned he was always inimical to his father. His reason asked harshly
why he should be desolated, as he undoubtedly was. The prospect of
freedom, of release from a horrible and humiliating servitude--this
prospect ought to have dazzled and uplifted him, in the safe, inviolable
privacy of his own heart. But it did not... What a chump the doctor
was, to be so uncommunicative! And he himself! ... By the way, he had
not told Maggie. It was like her to manifest no immediate curiosity, to
be content to wait... He supposed he must call at his aunt's, and even
at Clara's. But what should he say when they asked him why he had not
asked the doctor for a name?
Suddenly an approaching man whose face was vaguely familiar but with
whom he had no acquaintance whatever, swerved across the footpath and
stopped him.
"What's amiss with th' old gentleman?" It was astounding how news flew
in the town!
"He's not very well. Doctor's ordered him a rest."
"Not in bed, is he?"
"Oh no!" Edwin lightly scorned the suggestion.
"Well, I do hope it's nothing serious. Good morning."
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