"Don't
take too much for granted. Mine has been a simple life, but there have
been seasons when I would have changed it. I come of an adventurous race,
though the times have curbed our spirits. It was my grandfather, Sir
Hardross Courage, who was ambassador at Paris when Napoleon--"
"I know! I know!" he exclaimed. "Your grandfather! Good! And Nicholas
Courage--what of him?"
"My uncle!" I answered. "You have heard of him in Teheran."
A spot of color burned in his pallid cheeks.
"I hesitate no longer," he cried. "These were great men; but I will show
you the way to deeds which shall leave their memory pale. Listen! Did you
ever hear of Wortley Foote?"
"The spy," I answered, "of course!"
He started as though he were stung even to death. His cheeks were
flushed, and then as suddenly livid. He seemed to have grown smaller in
his chair, to be shrinking away as though I had threatened him with a
blow.
"I forgot," he muttered. "I forgot. Never mind. I am Wortley Foote. At
least it has been my name for a time."
It was my turn to be astonished.
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