My first impulse had been to write a letter to the Prime Minister,
but a little reflection convinced me that that would be useless. Who
would believe my tale? I must show a sign, some token in proof,
and Heaven knew what that could be. Above all, I must keep going
myself, ready to act when things got riper, and that was going to be
no light job with the police of the British Isles in full cry after me
and the watchers of the Black Stone running silently and swiftly on
my trail.
I had no very clear purpose in my journey, but I steered east by
the sun, for I remembered from the map that if I went north I
would come into a region of coalpits and industrial towns. Presently
I was down from the moorlands and traversing the broad haugh of
a river. For miles I ran alongside a park wall, and in a break of the
trees I saw a great castle. I swung through little old thatched
villages, and over peaceful lowland streams, and past gardens blazing
with hawthorn and yellow laburnum. The land was so deep in
peace that I could scarcely believe that somewhere behind me were
those who sought my life; ay, and that in a month's time, unless I
had the almightiest of luck, these round country faces would be
pinched and staring, and men would be lying dead in English fields.
About mid-day I entered a long straggling village, and had a
mind to stop and eat.
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