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Updated: May 19, 2025
"You are excellent well informed," said he, between surprise and irony. "My trade demands it. Knowledge is my buckler." His lordship nodded slowly, and fell very thoughtful, the letter before him, his eyes wandering ever and anon to con again some portion of it. "It is a game in which I stake my head," he muttered presently. "Has your lordship anything else to stake?" inquired Mr. Caryll.
The fine, pointed writing was curiously familiar to Mr. Caryll. He looked at the signature at the bottom of the page. It swam before his eyes ANTOINETTE-"Celle qui l'adore, Antoinette," he read, and the whole world seemed blotted out for him; all consciousness, his whole being, his every sense, seemed concentrated into his eyes as they gazed upon that relic of a deluded woman's dream.
This to Falgate, whose name was Francis, and who delighted in the feminine diminutive which his intimates used toward him. "Come help me with my clothes." "I vow to Gad," protested Mr. Falgate, advancing to the task. "I make but an indifferent valet, my dear." Mr. Caryll stood thoughtful a moment when Rotherby's wishes had been made known to him.
I think you may confidently expect to find him as generous as you hope." He pocketed the letters, and raised a hand to point at Mr. Caryll. "This man?" he inquired laconically. "Is a spy of King James's. He is the messenger who bore my father that letter from the Pretender, and he would no doubt have carried back the answer had my father lived." Mr.
He proceeded to tell her what he knew. "Ever since Green met Caryll at Maidstone has he suspected him, yet but that I kept him to the task he would have abandoned it. He's in my pay now as much as in Lord Carteret's, and if he can run Caryll to earth he receives his wages from both sides." "Well well? What has he discovered? Anything?" "A little.
Caryll, who had taken her measure very thoroughly, seeing something of how her thoughts were running, bethought him of a sweeter vengeance. "Lady Mary," he cried, a soft reproach in his voice, "I have been sore mistook in you if you are one to be guided by the rabble." And he waved a hand toward the modish throng. She knit her fine brows, bewildered.
Caryll was at cards with Harry Collis and Stapleton and Major Gascoigne, in a room above-stairs. There were at least a dozen others present, some also at play, others merely lounging. Of the latter was his Grace of Wharton. He was a slender, graceful gentleman, whose face, if slightly effeminate and markedly dissipated, was nevertheless of considerable beauty.
"I would I were as sure of Heaven." "I think you may be just about as sure," Mr. Caryll rejoined, entirely unperturbed, and he sauntered forward towards Hortensia. Rotherby and his mother watched him, exchanging glances. Then Rotherby shrugged and sneered. "'Tis his bluster," said he. "He'll be a farceur to the end. I doubt he's half-witted." Mr. Caryll never heeded him.
Caryll whose recovery had so far progressed that he might now be said to be his own man again came briskly up from Charing Cross one evening at dusk, to the house at the corner of Maiden Lane where Sir Richard Everard was lodged.
'I don't think Hec and Ger were in the room when we settled that, said Miss Ward, smiling a little. 'The facts are these, Mrs. Caryll. Justin meant to play a trick on Pat, some days ago what they call a "book-trap" some volumes balanced on the top of a door you have heard of it, I daresay? so that they fall on the head of the first person who goes into the room.
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