"I'm going away in a day or two," he said at length, in a measured
voice, "and my movements are uncertain--uncertain. But we shall
meet again before the end of the year."
When he had left the house, Piers recalled the tone of this remark,
and dwelt upon it with disquietude.
CHAPTER XXII
The night being fair, Piers set out to walk a part of the way home.
It was only by thoroughly tiring himself with bodily exercise that
he could get sound and long oblivion. Hours of sleeplessness were
his dread. However soon he awoke after daybreak, he rose at once and
drove his mind to some sort of occupation. To escape from himself
was all he lived for in these days. An ascetic of old times,
subduing his flesh in cell or cave, battled no harder than this
idealist of London City tortured by his solitude.
On the pavement of Piccadilly he saw some yards before him, a man
seemingly of the common lounging sort, tall-hatted and frock-coated,
who was engaged in the cautious pursuit of a female figure, just in
advance. A light and springy and half-stalking step; head jutting a
little forward; the cane mechanically swung--a typical
woman-hunter, in some doubt as to his quarry. On an impulse of
instinct or calculation, the man all at once took a few rapid
strides, bringing himself within sideview of the woman's face.
Evidently he spoke a word; he received an obviously curt reply; he
fell back, paced slowly, turned and Piers became aware of a
countenance he knew--that of his brother Daniel.
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