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But Duddeley was the first Englishman, as far as I am aware, who marched, 'for his experience and pleasure, four long marches through the island; the last fifty miles going and coming through a most monstrous thicke wood, for so is most part of the island; and lodging myself in Indian townes. Poor Sir Robert 'larding the lean earth as he stalked along' in ruff and trunk hose, possibly too in burning steel breastplate, most probably along the old Indian path from San Fernando past Savannah Grande, and down the Ortoire to Mayaro on the east coast.
Nor I ain't gwine ter gib it no secon' chance ter tumble dat ruff down on ma haid no, sah!" Once more at the breakfast table, with the affrighted Indian squaw waiting upon them, the professor took up the topic of earthquakes again, in answer to Jack's observation.
"Who, if rumour saith true, made his fortune by a galliard," said Dr. Bourgoin. "Here is a contrast to him," said Jean Kennedy. "See that figure, as puritanical as Sir Amias himself, with the long face, scant beard, black skull-cap, and plain crimped ruff.
On the landing below, exactly underneath the room from which he had descended, there was a door upon which his name was written upon a small brass plate Mr. Peter Ruff. He opened and closed it behind him with a swift movement which he had practised in his idle moments. He found himself looking in upon a curious scene.
It was afternoon before the inquest on the body of Austen Abbott, and there was gathered together in Letty Shaw's parlor a curiously assorted little group of people. There was Miss Shaw herself or rather what seemed to be the ghost of herself and her mother; Lady Mary and Sir William Trencham; Peter Ruff and Violet Brown and Mr. John Dory.
Vincent Cawdor might be a person of some importance. "What is a commission agent?" she asked. Peter Ruff shook his head. "It might mean anything," he declared. "Never trust any one who is not a little more explicit as to his profession. I am afraid that this Mr. Vincent Cawdor, for instance, is a bad lot." "I am sure he is," Miss Brown declared.
"I am going to cut everything to-night with everybody," Lady Mary said. "Please forgive me. Come to tea to-morrow and I'll explain." The young man bowed, and, with a curious glance at Ruff, accepted his dismissal. Another partner was simply waved away. "Please turn round and come back," Peter Ruff said. "I want to see those two again." "But we haven't found Count von Hern yet," she protested.
When he returned luncheon was ready, but Violet was absent. He rang the bell. "Where is your mistress, Jane?" he asked the parlor-maid. The girl had no idea. Mrs. Ruff had left for the village several hours before; since then she had not been seen. Peter Ruff ate his luncheon alone, and understood. The afternoon wore on, and at night he traveled up to London.
"What in hell's name brings her here?" cried Sir George, hurriedly riding forward, "and how came she?" I followed speedily, and the piteous sight filled my eyes with tears. I cannot describe it adequately to you, though I shall see it vividly to the end of my days. Dorothy had received a slight wound upon the temple, and blood was trickling down her face upon her neck and ruff.
A strange little old lady she was—a little old lady with short red skirts and high, gayly-flowered draperies at her waist, a little old lady with a tall black, sugar-loaf hat, a great white ruff around her neck and little red shoes with bright silver buckles on them—a little old lady who carried a black cat perched on one shoulder and a broomstick in one hand.
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