“My Heaven!” groaned the colonel, “this is terrible. Why, my dear boy, who was it that got you out of your scrapes at Cambridge? Who was it that undertook the sole management of your business affairs while you went trying to emulate Livingstone, Stanley and those fellows?”
Sir Harold laughed.
“You understand, colonel,” he said, “my friend, Mr. Hamilton, who is in reality a clever surgeon, predicts that I shall recover in time, and then we may be able to enter into these matters with mutual interest. At present they are of very little importance to me. Of course, I have heard much that greatly concerns me, and I have no desire to return to Annesley Park as an object of pity and curiosity, if you will be so kind as to see that my affairs do not get muddled. Perhaps I am asking too much.”
“Asking too much?” the colonel interrupted, with tears in his eyes. “I would lay down my life for you, Harold. Now, tell me, do your thoughts ever return to Lady—to Lady Elaine?”
“Mr. Hamilton has told me something of Lady Elaine, but I really do not remember her, colonel. From what I understand she must be a heartless beauty. I only wonder that I was fool enough to succumb to her wiles.”
“Do you wish to see her again?” Greyson asked.
“No—only perhaps out of idle curiosity,” was the indifferent reply; “but there is one thing that I am anxious about, Colonel Greyson. What do the newspapers say about me—and about Lady Elaine?”
“Oh, the usual twaddle. It is supposed that you went away in a huff and are abroad again.”
“Capital!” laughed Sir Harold. “I could not bear to be pitied as the brokenhearted lover, who, in addition, had lost half his wits! I intend to remain here, colonel, and rely upon you to keep my secret until I am again in complete possession of my faculties. I can trust you—I know that I can trust you, and let me confide to you something concerning my host, who calls himself John Hamilton.”
He straightway repeated the old musician’s story, and all became as clear as noonday to the brusque old soldier.