old homespun suit. They asked a
quantity of questions. Where was Mr. Guiseley going first? Frank didn't
quite know; Where would he sleep that night? Frank didn't quite know; he
would have to see. When was the walking-tour going to end? Frank didn't
quite know. Did he really like it? Oh, well, Frank thought it was a good
thing to go on a walking tour, even if you were rather uncomfortable
sometimes.

The leave-taking was unemotional. Jack had announced suddenly and
loudly in the smoking-room before dinner that he was going to see the
last of Frank, as far as the churchyard; Frank had protested, but had
yielded. The rest had all said good-by to him in the hall, and at a
quarter to nine the two young men went out into the darkness.

(VI)

It was a clear autumn night--a "wonderful night of stars"--and the skies
blazed softly overhead down to the great blotted masses of the high
moors that stood round Barham. It was perfectly still, too--the wind had
dropped, and the only sound as the two walked down the park was the low
talking of the stream over the stones beyond the belt of trees fifty
yards away from the road.

Jack was sick at heart; but even so, he tells me, he was conscious that
Frank's silence was of a peculiar sort. He felt somehow as if his friend
were setting out to some great sacrifice in which he was to suffer, and
was only partly conscious of it--or, at least, so buoyed by some kind of
exaltation or fanaticism as not to realize what he was doing. (He
reminded me of a certain kind of dream that most people have now and
then, of accompanying some friend to death: the friend goes forward,
silent and exultant, and we cannot explain nor hold him back.

"That was the sort of feeling," said Jack lamely.)

* * * * *

Jack had the grim satisfaction of carrying the bag in which, so to
speak, the knife and fillet were hidden. He changed his mood half a
dozen times even in that quarter of an hour's walk through the town. Now
the thing seemed horrible, like a nightmare; now absurdly preposterous;
now rather beautiful; now perfectly ordinary and commonplace. After all,
Jack argued with himself, there are such people as tramps, and they
survive. Why should not Frank? He had gipsy blood in him, too. What in
the world was he--Jack--frightened of?

"Do you remember our talking about your grandmother?" he said suddenly,
as they neared the lodge.

"Yes. Why?"

"Only I've just thought