"I found him in the fog out there—or rather he found me," answered Jugging humorously. "And I did not know he was this side of St. Germain."
"Well, 'tis time enough he knew he was amongst the right sort of friends," the little lady said, her fingers all the time busied in adjusting bandages to the wounded arm. "You are too young, Master Ormerod, to remember old Peter Juggins——"
A light burst upon my addled wits.
"Why, of course!" I cried. "He was steward under my father, and in his father's time before him! But you?"
"Peter was my husband," she said simply. "Robert here is our grandson. As I said, sir, it was all too long ago for you to remember; but when Peter died your father offered his place to Robert. Robert would have none of it. He had the wandering bee in his bonnet. He was young, and he must see the world. He would make his fortune, too. No life as an estate steward for him."
"And wise I was, too, granny," interjected Master Juggins. "Even you will grant that now."
"Be not too elevated by your good fortune," she retorted. "Had you followed your grandfather at Foxcroft your counsel might have restrained Master Harry and his brother from their madness——"
"I wish it might have," I said bitterly, thinking of Charles' lonely grave on a mist-draped hillside in the Scotch Highlands.
"But in that case," Master Juggins gravely pointed out, "you would not have been at hand to rescue me tonight."
"Nor would you have been getting yourself mixed into intrigues which would place you in fear of assassination," she snapped. "Have done with your foolery, Robert. Master Ormerod knows naught of his father's kindness to you."