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Updated: June 16, 2025
Oddly enough it happened that the least satisfactory of Helen Ambrose's brothers had been sent out years before to make his fortune, at any rate to keep clear of race-horses, in the very spot which had now become so popular. Often, leaning upon the column in the verandah, he had watched the English ships with English schoolmasters for pursers steaming into the bay.
All the romantic tales he had ever read, all the worst stories of bloodshed and horrors crowded upon Ambrose's mind as the two boys plodded steadily along the cart track, bending a little under their burdens. "Andrew said once that there used to be a ghost here," said David, breaking the silence. "Don't," said Ambrose, giving him a sharp dig with his elbow.
Moreover, grieved as all the family were for the fate of the admirable and excellent More, it was a relief to those less closely connected with him to attend to something beyond poor Ambrose's sorrow and his talk, the which moreover might be perilous if any outsider listened and reported it to the authorities as disaffection to the King.
But whatever shape they took, in one respect Ambrose's dreams were always alike he was never successful. Always striving, and pursuing, and fighting, and never victorious, it was no wonder that he was worn out and quite exhausted when morning came.
It was Emslie who broke the silence. "Do you wish me to stay?" he respectfully asked Colina. She raised grave eyes to Ambrose. "Is there anything I can do for you?" she asked evenly. "Yes," said Ambrose breathlessly. After a moment's hesitation she said to Emslie: "Please wait outside." Ambrose's heart leaped up.
They had not met for more than a week, for Ambrose's finances had not availed to fee the turnkeys to give him entrance. "And what art thou doing, Ambrose?" asked Stephen, rousing a little from his lethargy. "Methought I heard mine uncle say thine occupation was gone?" "Even so," replied Ambrose.
Among the pictures that this terrible night etched with acid on Ambrose's subconsciousness, the sight of them standing motionless, all the dark faces lighted by the glare, was not the least impressive. With a sickening anxiety he perceived the signs of a rising savage rage. The men scowled and muttered. More than once he heard the words: "John Gaviller!"
The words answered well to the ghastly delineations that seemed stamped on Ambrose's brain and which followed him about into the nave, so that he felt himself in the grasp of the cruel fiend, and almost expected to feel the skeleton claw of Death about to hand him over to torment.
One of the men who guarded Ambrose drew his knife and cut his bonds and untied the handkerchief. Ambrose's heart beat high. It never occurred to him that they could believe the wretched liar! He drew himself over the edge of the pit, helped by those behind. "Hello!" he cried. There was no answering greeting. The faces before him were as grim as stone.
"You could fight for me if you would," she murmured to the boy. A hot little flame of jealousy scorched Ambrose's breast. He laughed jeeringly. "Who's next?" he cried. Colina, not looking at him, drew a baleful breath between her teeth. Suddenly she turned, and with hanging head slowly made her way toward the door.
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