He could see the stables and the
outbuildings distinctly, as they lay towards him on the slope. Well, he
would not go there many more times! Another resource would be lost to
him, another place gone: the only company he cared for in the alien, ugly
little town he was losing. Nothing but work, drudgery, constant hastening
from dwelling to dwelling among the colliers and the iron-workers. It
wore him out, but at the same time he had a craving for it. It was a
stimulant to him to be in the homes of the working people, moving as it
were through the innermost body of their life. His nerves were excited
and gratified. He could come so near, into the very lives of the rough,
inarticulate, powerfully emotional men and women. He grumbled, he said he
hated the hellish hole. But as a matter of fact it excited him, the
contact with the rough, strongly-feeling people was a stimulant applied
direct to his nerves.
Below Oldmeadow, in the green, shallow, soddened hollow of fields, lay a
square, deep pond. Roving across the landscape, the doctor's quick eye
detected a figure in black passing through the gate of the field, down
towards the pond. He looked again. It would be Mabel Pervin. His mind
suddenly became alive and attentive.
Why was she going down there? He pulled up on the path on the slope
above, and stood staring. He could just make sure of the small black
figure moving in the hollow of the failing day.
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