As for himself, he was not tired. The long pent-up energy had
begun to escape, and it seemed that he could have ridden, or walked, or
in any way worked hard for a long time without need of rest. Move, move
he must. He had been dormant long enough; thinking, thinking, nothing
but that for months. It would have driven him mad had he not made a
change. Where was he going? No one knew; Rupert himself did not know;
anywhere for a change; anywhere to get away, for a time, from the scenes
and remembrances of the valley and town of Willowby.
At dark he rode into a village at the mouth of a gorge. Lights gleamed
from the windows. A strong breeze came from the gorge, and the trees
which lined the one stony street all leaned away from the mountain.
Rupert had never been in the place before, but he had heard of Windtown.
Was there a hotel? he asked a passer-by. No; but they took lodgers at
Smith's, up the hill. At Smith's he, therefore, put up his horse and
secured supper and bed. Until late at night he walked up and down
Windtown's one street, and even climbed the cliffs above the town.
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