‘Ask of my husband, Sir,’ said Joan, with a fine blush. ‘He hath but late returned from sailing overseas with Sir Richard Grenville, and to-day, but this moment, returning home, hath lighted on this welcome.’
The Ancient exclaimed, between interest and commiseration:—
‘What, Master Middleton himself! This, Sir, is indeed a lamentable homing for you!’
Brion bowed mechanically. His eyes were wild, distracted. ‘My Uncle?’ he said feverishly: ‘I must go seek him, find him. Mayhap he had warning to escape.’
He was making for the now emptied archway, through which the crashing embers of the fire shone as from a furnace door, when the young officer detained him, leaning from his horse:—
‘Nay, do you not know?’
‘Know what, Sir?’
‘If ’tis of Master Bagott you speak, he is dead.’
‘Dead!’
‘Some weeks gone. He had an accident, falling from the stairs.’