; and I said to myself that I
would write him a letter. So I will, to-day. And in a month or two I
shall see him. I'm a walking-copybook-line; procrastination--nothing
but putting off pleasures and duties these last years; I don't know how
it is. But certainly I will go over to Hawes when I'm in Yorkshire. And
I'll write today, tell him I've seen you."

Much better in spirits, Piers returned to the hotel. Yes, after all, he
would copy out those verses of his, and send them to Miss Derwent. They
were not bad; they came from his heart, and they might speak to hers.
Just his name at the end; no address. If she desired to write to him,
she could easily learn his address from Mrs. Hannaford. He would send
them!

"A telegram for you, sir," said the porter, as he entered.

Wondering, he opened it.

"Your father has suddenly died. Hope this will reach you in time.

EMMA OTWAY."

For a minute or two, the message was meaningless. He stood reading and
re-reading the figures which indicated hour of despatch and of
delivery. Presently he asked for a railway-guide, and with shaking
hands, with agony of mental confusion, sought out the next train
northwards. There was just time to catch it; not time to pack his bag.
He rushed out to the cab.

CHAPTER XIV

"The circumstances are these. On the day after I said good-bye to him,
my father went for his usual morning walk, and was absent for two
hours. He returned looking very pale and disturbed, and with some
difficulty was persuaded (you know how he disliked speaking of himself)
to tell what had happened. It seems that, somewhere on the lonely road,
he came across two men, honest-looking country folk, engaged in a
violent quarrel; their language made it clear that one accused the
other of some sort of slander, a very trivial affair. Just as my father
came up to them, they began fighting. He interfered, tried to separate
them--as he would have done, I am sure, had they been armed with
pistols, for the sight of fighting was intolerable to him, it put him
beside himself with a sort of passionate disgust. They were great
strong fellows, and one of them, whether intentionally or not, dealt
him a fierce blow on the chest, knocking him down. That put an end to
the fight. My father had to sit by the roadside for a time before he
could go home.

"The next day he did not look well, but spent his time as usual, and on
the morning after, he seemed to be all right again. The next day