"Ask Mademoiselle de St. Roques," said Jack, and this brought upon Lucille a flood of questions. She related simply what she had done; not specifying, as she had specified to Jack, the precise manner of description given of Ivor's health.
Denham lifted her hand to his lips. "It is you whom I have to thank, then," he said, much moved. "But no thanks could repay what you have done. I can never forget this debt."
One grey shadow lay on Ivor's happiness, of which Jack alone was allowed a glimpse, when the two were together, late at night. "If it had but been to serve once more under him!" broke from Denham, in a tone which Jack too well understood. The sorrow of that loss, to those who had known John Moore personally, could end only with life itself.
[CHAPTER XLIII]
THE RELEASE OF ONE
RAPID travelling, ninety years ago, was a comparative term. Ivor performed the journey as fast as relays of horses could convey a post-chaise to the coast, and as quickly as contrary winds would allow him to cross the Channel. Now that he was actually on the road to Polly, each hour's delay became all but insupportable.
Six long years since he had said good-bye to Polly, for one fortnight! Would she be altered, as much as he felt that he himself was altered?
It was a cold day, late in spring, when he found himself at the front door of the Bryces' comfortable mansion. The old butler opened to Denham, as once before to Roy. This time Drake was not taken in. One glance, and his face changed.
"Sir!"
"You know me? I hardly thought you would." Ivor grasped kindly the old retainer's hand. "I am taking you all by surprise."