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The two men sat within a yard of each other, each thinking, of the other in his individual way, from his individual point of view, the Jesuit with downcast eyes, his companion watching his immobile features. At length Christian Vellacott's full and quiet tones broke the spell. "Of course," he said simply, "I refuse." The Provincial rose from his seat, pushing it back as he did so.
"I did not say 'thou, but 'you," he persisted gently. Vellacott's glance wavered; he raised his head, and looked out of the open port-hole across the glassy waters of the river. "What do you mean?" he inquired. "I thought," said Rene Drucquer, "there might be some one else some woman who was waiting for news." After a little pause the journalist replied.
Indirectly, I should think, unless the Vicomte d'Audierne is a scoundrel." Sidney thought deeply. "He may be," he admitted. "I do not," pursued Mr. Bodery, with a certain easy deliberation, "think that the Vicomte is aware of Vellacott's existence. That is my opinion." "He asked who you were if you were a friend of my father's." "And you said " "No!
The decay of their minds had been slow, and it had been Christian Vellacott's painful task to watch its steady progress. Day by day he had followed the gradual failing of each sense and power. There is something pathetic about the decay of a mind which has been driven to death by constant work, but there is a compensating thought to alleviate the sadness.
"You will see at the foot this Mr. Vellacott's reason for not wiring to you direct. He wished my friend to be here before the printers got to work this morning; but owing to this unfortunate illness " "I am afraid you are too late, sir," interrupted Mr. Bodery briskly. "The press is at work "
Morgan, however, laid aside his pencil, and placed his elbow upon the proof-sheets before him. The stranger then stepped forward with a sudden change of manner. "Mr. Bodery," he said, in a low, concentrated voice, "I will give you five hundred pounds for a proof copy of Mr. Vellacott's article." A dead silence of some moments' duration followed this remark. Mr.
Carew, is there a monastery somewhere in this part of the country?" "Down that valley," replied Sidney, pointing with his whip. "In Vellacott's article there is mention of a monastery not too minutely described, however. There are also some remarkable suppositions respecting an old foreigner living in seclusion. Could that be the man you mentioned just now Signor Bruno?" "Hardly.
Vellacott's own written tribute to the vast powers of the Jesuits, and their immovable habit of forcing a way through all obstacles to the end in view, was scarcely reassuring to his friends.
I don't know much about French politics that is Vellacott's department. But I know that if he were here, and knew of the Vicomte's presence in England, he would be very much on the alert." "Then," asked Sidney, "do you connect the presence of the Vicomte here with the absence of Vellacott?" "There can be little question about it, directly or indirectly.
It was the frown that settled over his eyes when he cut the pages of a deep book and glanced at the point of his pencil. He had read many books, and he knew a number of things. But there is one subject of which very little can be learnt in books precisely the subject that walked in a blue cotton dress by Christian Vellacott's side at the edge of the moat.
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