"
Now despite his light tone, I noticed two things, his eyes were still
fixed and intent and a thin trickle of moisture gleamed beneath his
hat brim.
"Poor child!" sighed my uncle. "Let us hope her bruised spirit has
found rest, a surcease from all troubles. Let us hope she has found
the Infinite Happiness if there be such in the Great Beyond.
Haredale--hum! Have you any recollection of this man, Perry; his
looks, air, voice--could you describe him?"
"He was tall, sir, as yourself, or very nearly--looked younger than
his years--a cold, imperturbable man, dark, but of pale complexion,
with deep-set eyes that seemed to glow strangely. A man of iron will
who fronted Lord Wyvelstoke unflinchingly even after his arm was shot
and broken!" And here I described the incident as fully as possible.
"And what was the name Lord Wyvelstoke used?"
"Devereux, sir."
"Hum!" said my uncle. And thereafter we walked in silence through
streets beginning to stir with the busy life of a new day.
Reaching my uncle's chambers in St. James's Street, he paused in the
doorway to glance up and down the street with that same expression of
fixed intensity, that faraway look of absorption.
"This," said he, speaking almost as with an effort, "this has been
a--somewhat eventful walk of ours, Peregrine. I will not invite you to
breakfast, remembering you have guests of your own. Au revoir."
"Uncle Jervas," said I, as we clasped hands, "this has indeed been an
eventful walk, for to-day I have learned to know you better than I
ever expected, or dared to hope--sir, are you ill?" I questioned
anxiously, for despite that trickle of moisture at his temple, the
hand I held felt deadly cold and nerveless.
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