"When you noticed that I looked ill this morning," he said, "Itold you that I had been thinking of a way to recover my health, and that I meant to speak to you about it later in the day. That latter time has come. I have been out of sorts, as the phrase is, for some time past. You have remarked it yourself, Allan, more than once; and, with your usual kindness, you have allowed it to excuse many things in my conduct which would have been otherwise unpardonable, even in your friendly eyes.""My dear fellow," interposed Allan, "you don't mean to say you are going out on a walking tour in this pouring rain!""Never mind the rain," rejoined Midwinter. "The rain and I are old friends. You know something, Allan, of the life I led before you met with me. From the time when I was a child, I have been used to hardship and exposure. Night and day, sometimes for months together, I never had my head under a roof. For years and years, the life of a wild animal--perhaps I ought to say, the life of a savage--was the life I led, while you were at home and happy. I have the leaven of the vagabond--the vagabond animal, or the vagabond man, I hardly know which--in me still. Does it distress you to hear me talk of myself in this way? I won't distress you. I will only say that the comfort and the luxury of our life here are, at times, I think, a little too much for a man to whom comforts and luxuries come as strange things. I want nothing to put me right again but more air and exercise; fewer good breakfasts and dinners, my dear friend, than I get here. Let me go back to some of the hardships which this comfortable house is expressly made to shut out. Let me meet the wind and weather as I used to meet them when I was a boy; let me feel weary again for a little while, without a carriage near to pick me up; and hungry when the night falls, with miles of walking between my supper and me. Give me a week or two away, Allan--up northward, on foot, to the Yorkshire moors--and I promise to return to Thorpe Ambrose, better company for you and for your friends. Ishall be back before you have time to miss me. Mr. Bashwood will take care of the business in the office; it is only for a fortnight, and it is for my own good--let me go!""I don't like it," said Allan. "I don't like your leaving me in this sudden manner. There's something so strange and dreary about it. Why not try riding, if you want more exercise; all the horses in the stables are at your disposal. At all events, you can't possibly go to-day. Look at the rain!"Midwinter looked toward the window, and gently shook his head.
"I thought nothing of the rain," he said, "when I was a mere child, getting my living with the dancing dogs--why should Ithink anything of it now? _My_ getting wet, and _your_ getting wet, Allan, are two very different things. When I was a fisherman's boy in the Hebrides, I hadn't a dry thread on me for weeks together. ""But you're not in the Hebrides now," persisted Allan; "and Iexpect our friends from the cottage to-morrow evening. You can't start till after to-morrow. Miss Gwilt is going to give us some more music, and you know you like Miss Gwilt's playing."Midwinter turned aside to buckle the straps of his knapsack.
"Give me another chance of hearing Miss Gwilt when I come back,"he said, with his head down, and his fingers busy at the straps.
"You have one fault, my dear fellow, and it grows on you,"remonstrated Allan; "when you have once taken a thing into our head, you're the most obstinate man alive. There's no persuading you to listen to reason. If you _will_ go," added Allan, suddenly rising, as Midwinter took up his hat and stick in silence, "Ihave half a mind to go with you, and try a little roughing it too!""Go with _me!_" repeated Midwinter, with a momentar y bitterness in his tone, "and leave Miss Gwilt!"Allan sat down again, and admitted the force of the objection in significant silence. Without a word more on his side, Midwinter held out his hand to take leave. They were both deeply moved, and each was anxious to hide his agitation from the other. Allan took the last refuge which his friend's firmness left to him: he tried to lighten the farewell moment by a joke.
"I'll tell you what," he said, "I begin to doubt if you're quite cured yet of your belief in the Dream. I suspect you're running away from me, after all!"Midwinter looked at him, uncertain whether he was in jest or earnest. "What do you mean?" he asked.
"What did you tell me," retorted Allan, "when you took me in here the other day, and made a clean breast of it? What did you say about this room, and the second vision of the dream? By Jupiter!"he exclaimed, starting to his feet once more, "now I look again, here _is_ the Second Vision! There's the rain pattering against the window-there's the lawn and the garden outside--here am Iwhere I stood in the Dream--and there are you where the Shadow stood. The whole scene complete, out-of-doors and in; and _I've_discovered it this time!"