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In the Council or not. Everyone who knows anything knows that. And here we are with dead bodies lying in the dark! Why, where have you been if you haven't heard all about the trouble between Ostrog and the Verneys? And what do you think the troubles are about? The Sleeper? Eh? You think the Sleeper's real and woke of his own accord eh?"
The other boy answered curtly, "Lawrence, the Head of the House." The big fellow suddenly caught John's eyes. What he read there admiration, respect, envy brought a slight smile to his lips. "Your name?" he demanded. "Verney." Lawrence held out his hand, simply and yet with a certain dignity. "I heard you were coming," he said, keenly examining John's face. "We can't have too many Verneys.
"I'm sure the Verneys, and the Egertons, and the Duffs have always thought so." "But it isn't really," whimpered poor Fluff. "You fellows know that everybody talks of Eton and Harrow. Who ever heard of Harrow and Eton? People say I've heard my eldest brother, Strathpeffer, say it again and again 'Eton and Harrow, just as they say 'Gentlemen and Players." "Oh," said the Caterpillar.
This old seat of the Verneys had another secret chamber in the middle storey, entered through a trap-door in "the muniment-room" at the top of the house. Here also was a small private staircase in the wall, possibly the "back stairs" mentioned in Sir Ralph's letters.
"It is not enough," he said at length, pausing before the great table around which the company were seated. "Thanks to the gallant daughter of the gallant Verneys," a bow and smile to Patricia, sitting enthroned in the great chair in their midst, "we know much, but it is not enough. These rogues have set a day upon which to rise; they have appointed a place to which they are to resort.
"We quarreled terribly and both of us said things that I know we didn't mean. It was the Fairfax temper, sir; I " "Damn the Fairfax temper!" roared the Major. "Thank Heavens, the Verneys are mild!" Dick laughed, in spite of himself.
"Your governor may feel that we want a fellow like you." John was blushing because he remembered what the Head of the House had said about the Verneys. Desmond glanced at him keenly. He detested flattery laid on too thick. But this was a genuine tribute. For the first time he smiled. "Thank you, Verney," he said, more genially.
It had been built in the reign of Henry the Seventh, and was coeval with its distinguished neighbour, the house of the Verneys, at Middle Claydon, and it had never served any other purpose than to shelter Englishmen of good repute in the land.
A shuffling step sounded on the porch outside, and the girl hurried toward the door, a sudden light of daring in her eyes. Impulse had always ruled the Verneys, and Ruth was a Verney from the crown of her dark head to the tips of her small feet. Catching up Grandmother Verney's long cloak hanging over a chair, she softly left the house.
In the Council or not. Everyone who knows anything knows that. And here we are with dead bodies lying in the dark! Why, where have you been if you haven't heard all about the trouble between Ostrog and the Verneys? And what do you think the troubles are about? The Sleeper? Eh? You think the Sleeper's real and woke of his own accord eh?"
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