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.