One day he spent in London. His father's
solicitor had desired to see him, in the matter of the legacy; Piers
received his money, and on the same day made over one hundred and
fifty pounds to Daniel Otway, whom he met by appointment; in
exchange, Daniel handed him a beautifully written I.O.U., which the
younger brother would pocket only with protest.
Another week passed. Piers no longer pretended to keep his usual
times; he wandered forth whenever home grew intolerable, and
sometimes snatched his only sleep in the four-and-twenty hours under
the hawthorn blossom of some remote meadow. His mood had passed into
bitterness. "I was well before; why did she interfere with me? She
did it knowing what would happen; it promised her amusement. I
should have kept to myself, and have been safe. She waylaid me. That
first meeting on the stairs----"
He raged against her and against all women.
One evening, towards sunset, he came home dusty and weary and with a
hang-dog air, for he had done something which made him ashamed.
Miles away from Ewell thirst and misery had brought him to a wayside
inn, where--the first time for years--he drank strong liquor. He
drank more than he needed, and afterwards fell asleep in a lane, and
woke to new wretchedness.
As he entered the house and was about to ascend the stairs, a voice
called to him. It was Mrs. Hannaford's; she bade him come to her in
the drawing-room.
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