CHAPTER XIX
Lessingham sat upon a fallen tree on Dutchman's Common near the
scene of his romantic descent, and looked rather ruefully over the
moorland, seawards. Above him, the sky was covered with little
masses of quickly scudding clouds. A fugitive and watery sunshine
shone feebly upon a wind-tossed sea and a rain-sodden landscape.
He found a certain grim satisfaction in comparing the
disorderliness of the day with the tumult in his own life. He felt
that he had embarked upon an enterprise greater than his capacity,
for which he was in many ways entirely unsuitable. And behind him
was the scourge of the telegram which he had received a few hours
ago, a telegram harmless enough to all appearance, but which,
decoded, was like a scourge to his back.
Your work is unsatisfactory and your slackness deserves reprobation.
Great events wait upon you. The object of your search is necessary
for our imminent operations.
The sound of a horse's hoofs disturbed him. Captain Griffiths, on
a great bay mare, glanced curiously at the lonely figure by the
roadside, and then pulled up.
"Back again, Mr. Lessingham?" he remarked.
"As you see."
The Commandant fidgeted with his horse for a moment. Then he
approached a little nearer to Lessingham's side.
"You are a good walker, I perceive, Mr. Lessingham," he remarked.
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