CHAPTER VIII
CAPTAIN ALEC RAISES HIS VOICE
Beaumaroy led the way into the parlour, Captain Alec following. "Well, I thought your old friend didn't care to see strangers," he said, continuing the conversation.
"He was tired and fretful to-night, so I got him to bed, and gave him a soothing draught—one that our friend Dr. Arkroyd sent him. He went off like a lamb, poor old boy. If we don't talk too loud we shan't disturb him."
"I can tell you what I have to tell in a few minutes."
"Don't hurry." Beaumaroy was bringing the refreshment he had offered from the sideboard. "I'm feeling lonely to-night, so I"—he smiled—"yielded to the impulse to ask you to come in, Naylor. However, let's have the story by all means."
The surprise—it might almost have been taken for alarm—which he had shown at the first sight of Alec, seemed to have given place to a gentle and amiable weariness, which persisted through the recital of the Captain's experiences—how his errand of courtesy, or gallantry, had led to his being on the road across the heath so late at night, and of what he had seen there.
"You copped them properly!" Beaumaroy remarked at the end, with a lazy smile. "One does learn a trick or two in France. You couldn't see their faces, I suppose?"
"No; too dark. I didn't dare show a light, though I had one. Besides, their backs were towards me. One looked tall and thin, the other short and stumpy. But I should never be able to swear to either."