“That, sir, I know no more than you.”
“Blythewood,” said the soldier, turning suddenly on the baronet, “has no tenant been in ‘Delsrop’ since the time of the gallows-bird?”
“None, Luvaine, till our friend here.”
The other addressed Mr. Tuke with icy civility.
“Perhaps I discuss what is yours with undue freedom, sir. My excuse must be that ‘Delsrop’ is a tradition for desolation; and to us of the neighbourhood it hath long been a thickset of mysteries. Here is another, it seems, that I little thought to connect with the place. Is it asking you too great a favour to acquaint me of developments, should they occur?”
“By no means. I will undertake that you are informed of the progress of any events that seem to touch upon a certain subject.”
The soldier bowed low, and walked to the door.
“Why, man—you are never going?” cried Sir David.
“You must hold me excused—yes. This strange recountal has vastly disturbed me. I would seek counsel of my pillow.”
The door closed behind him. Mr. Tuke turned mutely to his host.