"Stay!" He considered, his chin in his hand, his eyes dreamy.
"Better not, perhaps. Better not tell anybody. Let us keep this
to ourselves for the present. It has no direct bearing on the
matter to be tried. By the way, when does the court-martial sit?"
"I have just heard that Marshal Beresford has ordered it to sit on
Thursday here at Monsanto."
His lordship considered. "Perhaps I shall be present. I may be at
Torres Vedras until then. It is a very odd affair. What is your
own impression of it, Grant? Have you formed any?"
Grant smiled darkly. "I have been piecing things together. The
result is rather curious, and still very mystifying, still leaving a
deal to be explained, and somehow this wallet doesn't fit into the
scheme at all."
"You shall tell me about it as we ride into Lisbon. I want you
to come with me. Lady O'Moy must forgive me if I take French
leave, since she is nowhere to be found."
The truth was, that her ladyship had purposely gone into hiding,
after the fashion of suffering animals that are denied expression
of their pain. She had gone off with her load of sorrow and
anxiety into the thicket on the flank of Monsanto, and there Sylvia
found her presently, dejectedly seated by a spring on a bank that
was thick with flowering violets.
Pages:
240
241
242
243
244
245
246
247
248
249
250
251
252
253
254
255
256
257
258
259
260
261
262
263
264