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Updated: June 24, 2025
Lygon had no fixed purpose in taking a weapon with him; it was only a vague instinct of caution that moved him. In the canoe on the river, in an almost speechless apathy, he heard Dupont's voice giving him instructions.
I lose not a moment, my dearest aunt, in communicating to you a piece of intelligence which I am sure will give you pleasure: Lord Longford is going to be married to Lady Georgiana Lygon, daughter of Lord Beauchamp. You will be glad to see the letter Lord Longford wrote upon the occasion. Everybody is writing and talking about Lord Byron, but I am tired of the subject.
It was left to the man of the reedy lake to pay the penalty of apprehension, to suffer the effects of crime upon a nature not naturally criminal. Again and again, how many hundreds of times, had Roger Lygon seen in his sleep had even seen awake, so did hallucination possess him the new cattle trail he had fired for scores of miles.
"What are you doing here? Who are you?" he said. "Don't you know me?" answered Lygon, gazing intently at him. Face to face with the man who had tempted him to crime, Lygon had a new sense of boldness, a sudden feeling of reprisal, a rushing desire to put the screw upon him.
Eef you say you not care a dam to go to jail, so you can put him there, too, becos' you have not'ing, an' so dam seeck of everyt'ing, he will t'ink ten t'ousan' dollar same as one cent to Nic Dupont ben sur!" Lygon nodded his head, still holding his hands to the blaze.
"Roger Lygon," she repeated mechanically. Something in the man chained her thought his face that moment when her hand saved him and the awful fear left him, and a glimmer of light came into his eyes. But her lover beside her broke into song. He was happy with her. Everything was before him, her beauty, her wealth, herself.
"I must do it. I must get there if I can. I will not be afraid to die then," he muttered to himself. Presently he grasped an oar and paddled feebly. A slight wind had risen, and, as he turned the boat in to face the Forks again, it helped to carry the canoe to the landing-place. Lygon dragged himself out.
"Qui reste la Lygon?" he asked. "Dupont," was the nervous, hesitating reply. Dupont came forwards quickly. "Ah, ben, here we are again so," he grunted cheerily. Entering the house they sat before the fire, holding their hands to the warmth from force of habit, though the night was not cold. "Ben, you will do it to-night then?" Dupont said. "Sacre, it is time!"
Dupont and Lygon had been paid their price, and had disappeared, and been forgotten they were but pawns in his game and there was no proof against Henderley. Henderley had forgotten. Lygon wished to forget, but Dupont remembered, and meant now to reap fresh profit by the remembrance. Dupont was coming to-night, and the hatchet of crime was to be dug up again. So it had been planned.
He was asked to dinner by learned judges, and invited to balls by their ladies. In Chancery Lane, at the house of Sir Joseph Jekyll, Master of the Rolls, he met Mrs. Lygon, a beauteous and wealthy widow, whose father was a country squire, and whose mother was the sister of the great Lord Somers.
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