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There were the lodge-keeper and his wife, and one or two more. They were taking no notice of me, but were very busy round the car. Then suddenly I heard a cry of pain. "The weight is on him. Lift it easy," cried a voice. "It's only my leg!" said another one, which I recognized as Perkins's. "Where's master?" he cried. "Here I am," I answered, but they did not seem to hear me.
She lived in much retirement, and had so many virtues that she made herself respected all her life, which was long. M. de Beauvilliers was one of the children of the first marriage. I know not what care M. and Madame de Saint-Aignan took of the others, but they left him, until he was six or seven years of age, to the mercy of their lodge-keeper.
"That's all right," remarked Lord Talgarth heartily, and rode on. The lodge-keeper exchanged a solemn wink with the groom half a minute later, and stood to watch the heavy figure ahead plunging about rather in the saddle as the big black mare set her feet upon the turf and viewed her stable afar off.
"Then why did he not enter by the main avenue gates?" "Because at that hour they would be shut, and since it is evident that his visit was a secret one he would have had to knock up the lodge-keeper." "Why was his visit a secret one?" questioned Darby pointedly. "That is the thing that puzzles me. Anything more?" "Yes? Why should Sir Hubert come to the blue door?"
Here he stopped for a moment while the lodge-keeper was unfastening the bolt, and remembered afterwards that he had noticed the elaborate iron-work, and the nebuly coat which was set over the great gates.
I will call another day." The lodge-keeper bowed respectfully, Randal jumped into his cab: "To Curzon Street, quick!"
He noticed that the lodge-keeper had changed since he was there last, and not, it struck him, for the better. How well he remembered old John, with his sweet old wife, and their perfectly kept patch of garden and spotless little kitchen. . . . He had had two sons, both in the Grenadiers, magnificent, strapping fellows and Vane wondered what had become of them. . . .
It was a poorly furnished apartment characteristic of the rustic workman's dwelling, and was evidently the living room of the lodge-keeper. It was in process of being dismantled; cupboards and chests stood open and my acquaintance Hawkins was engaged in packing various belongings into a large wooden box set in the center of the floor.
The blinds were drawn down again, the lodge-keeper went to sleep, and the monotonies of life submerged everything like a wave.
If only that wooden wall could be interposed between his stags and their pursuers, all might yet be well. But, though the lodge-keeper had been drawn by the tumult to his door, he stood there like one amazed and fascinated by the spectacle before him, and paralyzed with the catastrophe that seemed impending.
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