The Prelude to Adventure

s of no great height, slim and dark. His hair was black, his complexion sallow, and on his upper lip he wore a small dark moustache. His ears were small, his mouth thin, his

d in his carriage there was a dignity that had in it pride of birth, com

as for him no interest and no worth but that may lead, once it has been traversed, to something of importance and adventure. He was now at the beginning of his second yea

deprived of his scholarship at the end of his first year. He played brilliantly in the Freshmen's Rugby match, but so indolently in the first University match of the season that he was not invited again. Had he played merely badly he would have been given a second trial, but his superior insolence was considered insulting. He never played in any Colle

eneral, he had made no enemies. He wondered at that himself, on occasions; he had always been supposed, for

ntern above a stone wall, the sun was red over the lower veils of white that rose from the sodden fields. Some trees started like spies along the r

ly, horribly ill. Slowly, then, the colour came back to his cheeks, his hands were once more steady, he could see again clearly. He addressed th

d again he turned his head to see whether anything were there, and the further the little wood was left behind the nearer did the body seem to be. He must not allow himself to think these things. Carfax was dead-Carfax was dead-Carfax was dead. It was a good thing that Carfax was dead. He had

of a God. His father had defied God and the Devil time and again and had been none the worse for it. And yet-here and there about the world people lived and had their being to whom this question of God was a vi

ntense silence, and in that moment something had spoken to Olva. It is a fact as sure as concre

There was no one, save his father, for whom he need think. He would send his f

to that. Dunes had murdered, raped, tortu

had known in which direction he would take his walk; he had come upon Carfax entirely by chance. It might quite naturally be supposed that some tramp had attempted robbery. To the world at large Olva could have had no possible motive. But, for the moment, these thoughts were dismissed. It seemed to him just now immaterial whether he lived or died. Life had not hitherto been so wonderful a discovery that the making of it had be

ung on the wall of the passage opposite his bedroom. It was a large engraving in sharply contrasted black and white, of a knight who rode through mists along a climbing road up into the heart of towering hills. The mountains bad an active li

s contemptible. He had always until now accepted this idea and found it confirmed on every side. His six years at Rugby had encouraged him-he had despised, with his tolerant smile, boys and

could be terrible. He was hurrying now, although he had not formerly been conscious of it, hurrying into the lights and comforts and noise of the town. There might only be for him now a

triking his blow had put an impassable gulf between his soul and all the world. Bodies might touch, hands might be grasped, voices ring together, always n

of that November evening, eyed him with suspicion. He walked through them now, with his shoulders back, his head up. He could fancy how, to-morrow, their dull placidity would be wrung by the discovery of the crime. The

in their cobbles, in the old black, fantastic walls that hung above them. Beauty, too, on this November evening, shone through the misty lamplight. Beauty in the dark purple of the evening sky, beauty in the sudden vista of grey court

htest of socks, walked arm in arm-voices rang out-men called across the streets-hansoms rattled like little whirlwinds along th

road. Once he deliberately faced the moment when he had been sick-faced it, heard once again the dull, lumbering sound that the body had made

r seen? How much had he understood? Was it fancy, or did the dog crouch, the tiniest impulse, away from him as he bent to pat him? Bunker was tired; he relapse

wagged his tail, but the tiniest shiver

lef

nk that to-morrow night they would be speaking of him in low, grave voices as one who was already dead. "I kn

could h

e white veil the grey buildings rose, gently, on every side. There were lights now in the windows; the Chapel bell was ringin

he mist, sharply, above the sound

ax! C

body, his knees quivered, his face was as white as

raven, is

. . Can't see

un

do you know what's

ned? N

e. I wanted to get him for Brid

here's h

nt or other at Grantcheste

-No, Ros

haven't seen him

ut for

took my dog

ou in

ght

calling under the wi

the stairs