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A look of relief stole across Eglington's face. "Of course of course. These things need a lot of thought, Soolsby. One must act with care no haste, no flurry, no mistakes." "I would not wait too long, my lord, or be too careful." There was menace in the tone. "But if you go at things blind, you're likely to hurt where you don't mean to hurt.
There might come a time when this wise and tender soul might be taken into the innermost chambers, when all the truth might be known; but the secret of David's parentage was Eglington's concern most of all, and she would not speak now; and what was between Nahoum and David was David's concern; and she had kept his secret all these years. No, Faith might not know now, and might not come with her.
He gave her his arm, and they stepped out into the moonlit night. "So peaceful, so bright!" he said, looking round. "I will come at noon to-morrow," called the Duchess from the doorway. A light was still shining in Eglington's study when the carriage drove up. With a latch-key Hylda admitted herself and her maid. The storm had broken, the flood had come.
Your husband's position I did not know you were Lord Eglington's wife would entitle you to the highest consideration." "I knew that Nahoum Pasha would have the whole knowledge, while the Effendina would have part only. Excellency, will you not tell me what news You have? Is Claridge Pasha alive?" "Madame, I do not know. He is in the desert. He was surrounded.
He knew, from a true source, of Eglington's personal hatred of Claridge Pasha, though he did not guess their relationship; and all his interest was enlisted for the man who had, as he knew, urged Kate Heaver to marry himself and Kate was his great ambition now. Above and beyond these personal considerations was a real sense of England's duty to the man who was weaving the destiny of a new land.
David stood rigid and almost unblinking as Soolsby told his tale, beginning with the story of Eglington's death, and going back all the years to the day of Mercy Claridge's marriage. "And him that never was Lord Eglington, your own father's son, is dead and gone, my lord; and you are come into your rights at last." This was the end of the tale.
How had Soolsby's tale of Eglington's death filled him with a pity deeper than he had ever felt- the futile, bitter, unaccomplished life, the audacious, brilliant genius quenched, a genius got from the same source as his own resistless energy and imagination, from the same wild spring.
It was only a swift impression, for she could think of but one thing, David and his safety. She had come to Hylda, she said, because of Lord Eglington's position, and she could not believe that the Government would see David's work undone and David killed by the slave-dealers of Africa.
He knew, from a true source, of Eglington's personal hatred of Claridge Pasha, though he did not guess their relationship; and all his interest was enlisted for the man who had, as he knew, urged Kate Heaver to marry himself and Kate was his great ambition now. Above and beyond these personal considerations was a real sense of England's duty to the man who was weaving the destiny of a new land.
He gave her his arm, and they stepped out into the moonlit night. "So peaceful, so bright!" he said, looking round. "I will come at noon to-morrow," called the Duchess from the doorway. A light was still shining in Eglington's study when the carriage drove up. With a latch-key Hylda admitted herself and her maid. The storm had broken, the flood had come.
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