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"Yes, yes, that's it!" exclaimed Lord Lackington it! When Lady Henry wanted a companion and fate brought her Miss Le Breton " "Last night's coffee was already drunk," put in Sir Wilfrid. Meredith's voice, raised and a trifle harsh, made itself heard. "Why you should dignify an ugly jealousy by fine words I don't know. For some women women like our old friend gratitude is hard.
"It is mine," she said, softly, dropping her eyes. "But how how, in God's name, did you come by it?" "My mother left it to me, with all her other few books and possessions." There was a pause. Lord Lackington came closer. "Who was your mother?" he said, huskily. The words in answer were hardly audible. Julie stood before him like a culprit, her beautiful head humbly bowed.
Here and there on the walls were great smears of black from the torches, and even one or two torn bits of stuff and a crushed hat marked where the pressure had been fiercest. Most eloquent of all was the splintered door behind him, still held fast by one stout bolt, but leaning crookedly against the dinted wall of the interior. "A good night's work, friend," said Lackington to the man.
"Indeed it is all true: but I do not often go on these messages for my master. Mr. Roger generally goes: but he is sick." "Oho!" said Lackington, "you did not say that yesterday." The boy was terrified. "No, sir," he cried out miserably, "the gentleman did not ask me." "Well, who is Mr. Roger? What is he like?"
Emotion rose in a tide, but he crushed it down. He bent over her, speaking with deliberate tenderness. "Julie, do you remember what you promised Lord Lackington when he was dying?" "Oh!" cried Julie. She sprang to her feet, speechless and suffocated. Her eyes expressed a mingled pride and terror. He paused, confronting her with a pale resolution. "You didn't know that I had seen him?" "Know!"
Lord Lackington was standing in a group which contained Sir Wilfrid Bury and Mr. Montresor. "Well, good-bye, good-bye," he said, as she came up to him. "I must go. I'm nearly asleep." "Tired with abusing me?" said Montresor, nonchalantly, turning round upon him. "No, only with trying to make head or tail of you," said Lackington, gayly. Then he stooped over Julie. "Take care of yourself.
The cordon consisted of idlers and children picked up at Wrotham; and the tramp who feigned to be asleep had been one of them. When they had passed, he had given the signal to his nearest neighbour, and had followed them up. Nichol was soon at the place, and after them; and had followed to Stanfield with Lackington behind.
"What do you mean?" said the Duchess, offended. "If it isn't a Leonardo, pray what is it?" "Why, a bad school copy, of course!" said Lord Lackington, hotly. "Look at the eyes" he took out a pencil and pointed "look at the neck, look at the fingers!" The Duchess pouted. "Oh!" she said. "Then there is something in fingers!" Lord Lackington's face suddenly relaxed.
Sir Wilfrid noticed certain new and pitiful signs of age. The old man was still a rattle. But every now and then the rattle ceased abruptly and a breath of melancholy made itself felt like a chill and sudden gust from some unknown sea. They were joined presently, as the room filled up, by a young journalist an art critic, who seemed to know Lord Lackington and his ways.
Perhaps he was of some importance; at any rate, Sir Francis Walsingham was. Hubert sat up a little. "A mission to me?" he said. Lackington nodded. "A few questions on a matter of state." He drew from his pouch a paper signed by Sir Francis authorising him as an agent, for one month, and dated three days back; and handed it to Hubert. "I obtained that from Sir Francis on Monday, as you will see.
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