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Christopher had made out many checks for small amounts, and Stephen held the sheaf in his hand, and gradually his courage to arise and go and tell Christopher's wife gained strength. At last he went. Myrtle was looking out of the window, and she came quickly to the door. She looked at him, her round, pretty face gone pale, her plump hands twitching at her apron. "What is it?" said she.
To Christopher's surprise, Cynthia was the single member of the family who showed a sympathy with his reckless knight errantry. "There was nothing else for you to do, of course," she said in a resolute voice, lifting her worn face where the lines had deepened in his absence; "he used to be father's coachman before the war."
In the light of that ray Christopher's trained eyes caught the gleam of something white that moved in the shadow of the beech tree where they sat. Like a tiger he sprang at it, and the next moment haled out a man. "Look," he said, twisting the head of his captive so that the glow fell on it. "Look; I have the snake. Ah! Wife, you saw nothing, but I saw him, and here he is at last at last!"
To thus punish Christopher, until she had found some one to take his place, was a course of action which would not have occurred to her. Elisabeth's pride could never stand in the way of her pleasure; Christopher's, on the contrary, might.
She couldn't but perceive that the excess of Christopher's emotion was putting her at a disadvantage in the matter of dignity. "I can guess pretty much what she has done," said Mr. Twist. "You can't you can't," burst out Anna-Rose. "Nobody could nobody ever could who hadn't been with her day and night." "She's just been Mrs. Bilton," said Mr.
Christopher's long years of uncertainty were ended; the man's great perseverance had won out at last; and the weary petitioner who, some months before, had ridden doubtingly forth from La Rabida now rode back, bursting with joy, to fall on the good prior's neck and weep out his gratitude.
Christopher's face softened, as it always did at an allusion to his mother's blindness. "You're right," he said; "she is happy." "To be sure, she's had her life," pursued Tucker, without noticing him. "She's been a beauty, a belle, a sweetheart, a wife, and a mother to say nothing of a very spoiled old woman; but all the same, I don't think I have her magnificent patience.
From there Christopher's young feet would follow the winding Via di San Bernato, a street also inhabited by craftsmen and workers in wood and metal; and at the last turn of it, a gash of blue between the two cliffwalls of houses, you see the Mediterranean.
"You are not going to be a page," he said, "you are going to be" he hesitated "to be my own boy just as if you were my son. I've adopted you." "Why?" Christopher's dark eyes were fixed on the blue ones and then he saw the scar for the first time. It interested him so much he hardly heard Aymer's slow answer when it came.
"So far as I know," she whispered, "your way is clear, unless" she glanced at the box on the mantel "I fail, or that thing there does. Have you found out about the clock?" "Not much. Nothing, in fact. The Frenchman would not take my order for a clock exactly similar to my dear old friend's, and he was not talkative. But I'm very much mistaken if Christopher's diamonds are not there."
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