"I interrupt you?" said Sir George as they shook hands, and glancing out of the window he had a glimpse of the heads of a pair of restless bays. Unheard by him—the snow lying six inches deep before the porch—Lady Killiow's carriage had come round from the stables a minute after his arrival.
"But if I guess your errand," she said, "I was merely about to forestall it. I am driving to Bodmin."
"You knew nothing, then, of this poor old creature's case?" "My friend, I hope that you too have only just discovered it, or you would have warned me."
"I heard of it last night for the first time. Rosewarne alone is responsible for the prosecution?"
"He only." She nodded towards the letter on the writing-table. "I have asked him to attend here when I return, and explain himself. Meanwhile—"
"But what can you do?"
"The poor soul is in prison."
"That is where I came to offer my help. The Assizes are not over. The same judge who committed him has been delayed there for three days by a nisi prius suit—an endless West Cornwall will case."
"You did not suppose, surely, that this was happening with any consent of mine?"
"No," Sir George answered slowly, "I did not. But do you know, Lady Killiow, that, without any consent of ours, you and I have nearly been in litigation over this same wretched ferry?" He smiled at her surprise. "Oh, yes, I could help the Radicals to make out a very good case against us!"