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Updated: June 24, 2025
It was so long since she had seen that well-known, beloved handwriting,—strong like the man, and sure; she found herself counting the ages that had passed since his last love missive had come to her. Simmy was rattling on, rather dolefully, about Braden's plans.
Braden's blood was like ice water as he turned away from the man and entered his grandfather's room. The nurse was reading to the old man. With the young man's entrance, Mr. Thorpe cut her off brusquely and told her to leave the room. "Come here, Braden," he said, after the door had closed behind the woman. "Have you talked with Anne?" "Yes, grandfather." "She told you everything?" "I suppose so.
It is your duty to do what you can. It is your time to be merciful, my lad." Braden's face was in his hands. His body was shaking as if in convulsions. He could not look into the old man's eyes. "Send for Bates and Bray to-morrow. Tell them that you have decided to operate,—with my consent. They will understand. It must be done at once. You will not fail me.
"And their theory is if you want to know the truth that Ransford ran away with Braden's wife, and that Braden had been looking for him ever since." Bryce had kept his eyes on Mary's hands, and now at last he saw the girl's fingers tremble. But her voice was steady enough when she spoke. "Is that mere conjecture on their part, or is it based on any fact?" she asked.
Bryce hasn't it struck you that there's one feature in connection with Brake, or Braden's visit to Wrychester to which nobody's given any particular attention up to now so far as we know, at any rate?" "What?" demanded Bryce. "This," replied Harker. "Why did he wish to see the Duke of Saxonsteade? He certainly did want to see him and as soon as possible.
I don't care a snap of my fingers that Brake, or Braden's dead, or that Collishaw's dead, nor if one had his neck broken and the other was poisoned, but whose hand was that which the mason, Varner, saw that morning, when Brake was flung out of that doorway? Come, now! whose?" "Not mine, my lad!" answered Folliot, confidently. "That's a fact?" Bryce hesitated, giving Folliot a searching look.
The thought had never entered Anne's head to look anywhere but straight into Braden's eyes. She was not afraid to have him see that she was honest! He could see that she had no lies to tell him. And she was as sorry for him as she was for herself.... She saw him often during the days of Lutie's convalescence, but never alone.
If you mean that smooth-faced cuss that stutters and lives on Braden's Hill, I called on him, but he was out. If you see him, tell him to come up to Wedderburn, and I'll talk with him." Mr. Ball made a gesture to indicate a feeling divided between respect for Mr. Crewe and despair at the hardihood of such a proposition. "Lord bless you, sir, Job wouldn't go." "Wouldn't go?"
He had been expecting it. He realised that Braden's dilatory tactics alone were accountable for the delay in bringing the issue to a head. "And when do you expect to be married?" he had inquired, squinting at his grandson in a somewhat dubious manner. "Within the year, I hope," said Braden. "Of course, I shall have to get a bit of a start before we can think of getting married."
"You're no doubt, as you say, a good hand at finding things out, and you've doubtless done a good bit of ferreting, and done it well enough in your own opinion. But there's one thing you can't find out, and the police can't find out either, and that's the precise truth about Braden's death. I'd no hand in it it couldn't be fastened on to me, anyhow." Bryce looked up and interjected one word.
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