An image from ancient Egypt entered his mind—a sculpture in the British Museum, showing a pharaoh standing beside his wife, who had her arm round his waist, with her other hand on his forearm. It had always seemed to Charles a perfect emblem of conjugal harmony, not least since the figures were carved from the same block of stone. He and Sarah were not yet carved into that harmony; but they were of the same stone.

He gave himself then to thoughts of the future, to practical arrangements. Sarah must be suitably installed in London. They should go abroad as soon as his affairs could be settled, the Kensington house got rid of, his things stored… perhaps Germany first, then south in winter to Florence or Rome (if the civil conditions allowed) or perhaps Spain. Granada! The Alhambra! Moonlight, the distant sound below of singing gypsies, such grateful, tender eyes… and in some jasmine-scented room they would lie awake, in each other’s arms, infinitely alone, exiled, yet fused in that loneliness, inseparable in that exile.

Night had fallen. Charles craned out and saw the distant lights of Exeter. He called out to the driver to take him first to Endicott’s Family Hotel. Then he leaned back and reveled in the scene that was to come. Nothing carnal should disfigure it, of course; that at least he owed to Ernestina as much as to Sarah. But he once again saw an exquisite tableau of tender silence, her hands in his…

They arrived. Telling the man to wait Charles entered the hotel and knocked on Mrs. Endicott’s door.

“Oh it’s you, sir.”

“Miss Woodruff expects me. I will find my own way.”

Already he was turning away towards the stairs.

“The young lady’s left, sir!”

“Left! You mean gone out?”

“No, sir. I mean left.” He stared weakly at her. “She took the London train this morning, sir.”

“But I… are you sure?”

“Sure as I’m standing here, sir. I distinctly heard her say the railway station to the cabman, sir. And he asked what train, and she said, plain as I’m speaking to you now, the London.” The plump old lady came forward. “Well I was surprised myself, sir. Her with three days still paid on her room.”

“But did she leave no address?”

“Not a line, sir. Not a word to me where she was going.” That black mark very evidently cancelled the good one merited by not asking for three days’ money back.

“No message was left for me?”

“I thought it might very likely be you she was a-going off with, sir. That’s what I took the liberty to presume.”

To stand longer there became an impossibility. “Here is my card. If you hear from her—if you would let me know. Without fail. Here. Something for the service and postage.”

Mrs. Endicott smiled ingratiatingly. “Oh thank you, sir. Without fail.”

He went out; and as soon came back.

“This morning—a manservant, did he not come with a letter and packet for Miss Woodruff?” Mrs. Endicott looked blank. “Shortly after eight o’clock?” Still the proprietress looked blank. Then she called for Betsy Anne, who appeared and was severely cross-examined by her mistress… that is, until Charles abruptly left.

He sank back into his carriage and closed his eyes. He felt without volition, plunged into a state of abulia. If only he had not been so scrupulous, if only he had come straight back after… but Sam. Sam! A thief! A spy! Had he been tempted into Mr. Freeman’s pay? Or was his crime explicable as resentment over those wretched three hundred pounds? How well did Charles now understand the scene in Lyme—Sam must have realized he would be discovered as soon as they returned to Exeter; must therefore have read his letter… Charles flushed a deep red in the darkness. He would break the man’s neck if he ever saw him again. For a moment he even contemplated going to a police station office and charging him with… well, theft at any rate. But at once he saw the futility of that. And what good would it do in the essential: the discovery of Sarah?

He saw only one light in the gloom that descended on him. She had gone to London; she knew he lived in London. But if her motive was to come, as Grogan had once suggested, knocking on his door, would not that motive rather have driven her back to Lyme, where she supposed him to be? And had he not decided that all her intentions were honorable? Must it not seem to her that he was renounced, and lost, forever? The one light flickered, and went out.

He did something that night he had not done for many years. He knelt by his bed and prayed; and the substance of his prayer was that he would find her; if he searched for the rest of his life, he would find her.

55

Charles arrived at the station in ridiculously good time the next morning; and having gone through the ungentlemanly business of seeing his things loaded into the baggage van and then selected an empty first-class compartment, he sat impatiently waiting for the train to start. Other passengers looked in from time to time, and were rebuffed by that Gorgon stare (this compartment is reserved for non-lepers) the English have so easily at command. A whistle sounded, and Charles thought he had won the solitude he craved. But then, at the very last moment, a massively bearded face appeared at his window. The cold stare was met by the even colder stare of a man in a hurry to get aboard.

The latecomer muttered a “Pardon me, sir” and made his way to the far end of the compartment. He sat, a man of forty or so, his top hat firmly square, his hands on his knees, regaining his breath. There was something rather aggressively secure about him; he was perhaps not quite a gentleman… an ambitious butler (but butlers did not travel first class) or a successful lay preacher—one of the bullying tabernacle kind, a would-be Spurgeon, converting souls by scorching them with the cheap rhetoric of eternal damnation. A decidedly unpleasant man, thought Charles, and so typical of the age—and therefore emphatically to be snubbed if he tried to enter into conversation.

As sometimes happens when one stares covertly at people and speculates about them, Charles was caught in the act; and reproved for it. There was a very clear suggestion in the sharp look sideways that Charles should keep his eyes to himself. He hastily directed his gaze outside his window and consoled himself that at least the person shunned intimacy as much as he did.

Very soon the even movement lulled Charles into a douce daydream. London was a large city; but she must soon look for work. He had the time, the resources, the will; a week might pass, two, but then she would stand before him; perhaps yet another address would slip through his letter box. The wheels said it: she-could-not-be-so-cruel, she-could-not-be-so-cruel, she-could-not-be-so-cruel… the train passed through the red and green valleys towards Cullompton. Charles saw its church, without knowing where the place was, and soon afterwards closed his eyes. He had slept poorly that previous night.

For a while his traveling companion took no notice of the sleeping Charles. But as the chin sank deeper and deeper—Charles had taken the precaution of removing his hat—the prophet-bearded man began to stare at him, safe in the knowledge that his curiosity would not be surprised.