At the first reference to this strange title, Sir David had given a low whistle; and he now came forward and took the soldier by the sleeve.
“Harkee, Luvaine!” he said. “Here’s the yeast to work ye up like a pan of bread. Did he say that? Then it’s a strange thing, by God. But, steady, man. And, what d’ye say?—shall I, before more’s spoke, give Mr. Tuke the history of your trouble?”
The other’s mouth was twitching in an agitated manner.
“Well,” he said, after a moment’s thought, “I’m like to lose command of myself whenever that nightmare gets up. Speak, Davy, and I’ll sit mum while I can.”
The baronet turned to his astonished neighbour.
“’Tis passing strange, upon my soul, that the words should be on your lips,” said he; “for ’twas the name of a great ruby that was stole from Luvaine’s father.”
“The Lake of Wine?”
“The Lake of Wine, sir. Ronald Luvaine was a dependent of Hastings in John Company’s pay, and received the stone in reward of some particular nice service.”
“A crimson token and an apt. Was it plucked from the withered bosom of some starved Begum?”
“That’s no concern of ours,” said Sir David dryly. “The point is that the gem was stole from Ronald Luvaine, that was my father’s friend, and that he went crazy of it and died in a year or so.”