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Austin Turold brushed past the doctor and opened the door of the lighted room. At his entrance Mrs. Pendleton sprang from her seat to greet him. Grief and horror were in her look, but surprise contended with other emotions in Austin's face. She kissed him with clinging hands on his shoulders. "Oh, Austin," she cried, "Robert is dead killed!"
Pendleton stepped quickly across to her brother as he sat regarding his audience from behind his pile of documents. It was like a sister, at that moment, to slip back to the juvenile name and kiss his elderly face with tears in her eyes. Robert Turold received the caress unmoved, and she went back to the sofa. "Lord Turrald!
"The House of Lords will require proof on that point, will they not?" "I shall be able to satisfy them," returned Robert Turold. "The first Robert Turold reverted to the Norman spelling when he settled in Suffolk. Turrald is the corrupted form, doubtless due to early Saxon difficulties with Norman names.
I'm to postpone my claim for the sake of your mother, a " Sisily broke off suddenly, her white face flaming scarlet, her eyes widely distended, as though that last terrible scene was again produced before her vision. Charles Turold watched her mutely, with the understanding that nothing he could say would bring comfort to her stricken soul. She continued after a pause "I left him then.
"Perhaps his conscience pricked him. Go on." "There's nowt much more to tell. Turold got me my share of the money, and then we parted. He offered to invest it for me, but I wasn't going to trust no banks not I. It took me two years to waste it on gambling and women. Then I took to sea again. That lasted another year.
Nonsense! He Barrant was not simple enough to believe that. What then? Barrant was not prepared to supply a ready answer to that question. But his trained ear had detected many gaps in the young man's own narrative which, filled in, might give it. Turold knew more than he had said he was keeping things back. Again what things?
When Sisily first saw the cliffs of Cornwall she was reminded of those early days, with the difference that the Cornish granite rocks stood firm, as though saying to the sea, "Here rises England." The house Robert Turold had taken looked down on the sea from the summit.
But they all seemed to have some bearing on the quest to which Robert Turold had sacrificed the years of his manhood. He had died as he lived, engrossed in the labour of his life. A copy of Burke's "Vicissitudes of Families" was lying open on the table, and beside it were two sheets of foolscap, covered with notes in thin irregular handwriting.
Her husband had regarded her as a drag upon him, and did not consider her removal an occasion for the display of hypocritical grief. Rather was it to be regarded as an act of timely intervention on the part of Death, who for once had not acted as marplot in human affairs. They were there to listen to the story of the triumph of the head of the family, Robert Turold.
The Abbey of Peterborough, with its Norman abbot, was an object of his special detestation, and more than once Turold and his monks were put to flight, while the abbey yielded up a share of its treasures to the bold assailants. How long Hereward and his men dwelt in the greenwood we are not able to say.
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