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A fortnight had passed since they had come to Hamley David, Eglington, and Hylda and they had all travelled a long distance in mutual understanding during that time, too far, thought Luke Claridge, who remained neutral and silent.
They went there at once, and Hewitt, pulling a chair before the window, sat down with his back to the light. The dealer shut the door, and sat opposite him, with the light full in his face. "Mr. Claridge," Hewitt proceeded slowly, "when did you first find that Lord Stanway's cameo was a forgery?" Claridge literally bounced in his chair.
He did not know that there had suddenly come upon Luke Claridge the full consciousness of an agonising truth that all he had done where David was concerned had been a mistake. The hard look, the sternness, were the signals of a soul challenging itself. "Ay, you've had your own will," cried Soolsby mercilessly.
Storrington breathed her last, while her faithless yet long forgiven Francis knelt by her bedside in agonies of unavailing grief. Then about Christmas time, 1906, Dad told them that Mrs. Claridge was going to make him happy by coming to tend his motherless children; was going to be his wife.
"I do not know yet what I shall do," she answered. "It will depend on you; but it is your duty to tell the truth, not mine. That does not concern me; but to save Claridge Pasha does concern me." "So I have known."
"One moment, madame," he interrupted, and, opening a drawer, took out a letter. "I think that what you would say may be found here, with much else that you will care to know. It is the last news of Claridge Pasha a letter from him. I understand all you would say to me; but he who has most at stake has said it, and, if he failed, do you think, madame, that you could succeed?"
Your work is cut out, Betty, and I know you will do it as no one else can." "Oh, Windlehurst," she answered, with a hand clutching at his arm, "if we fail, it will kill me." "If she fails, it will kill her," he answered, "and she is very young. What is in her mind, who can tell? But she thinks she can help Claridge somehow. We must save her, Betty."
Whether so or not, it was the lad's right to take his place his mother gave him, let be whatever his father was. 'Twas a cruel thing done to him. His own was his own, to run his race as God A'mighty had laid the hurdles, not as Luke Claridge willed.
I want to know what startled Heaver yonder, what you have come to say." "I beg pardon, your grace. One doesn't keep good news waiting, and 'tis not good news for her ladyship I bring, even if it be for Claridge Pasha, for there was no love lost 'twixt him and second-best lordship that's gone." "Speak, man, speak it out, and no more riddles," she interrupted sharply.
Soolsby took the paper from him and read slowly: ". . . Claridge Pasha has done good work in Egypt, but he is a generation too soon, it may be two or three too soon. We can but regard this fresh enterprise as a temptation to Fate to take from our race one of the most promising spirits and vital personalities which this generation has produced. It is a forlorn hope.
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