Wyvern threw back his head, and roared.
“How’s that?” he said. “Why you bit off more than you could chew—darned sight more, old chap. Still I’m going to have it back again, not as a stock run but as a game preserve. I’m no good at farming I know, but I’m fond of this part of the country and the climate. So we shall squat down at Seven Kloofs—I think I shall take to writing books, or some such foolishness—and all be as jolly together as it’s possible to be. How’s that?”
“Oh, good enough,” said the other in a relieved tone. “You won’t take the child right away from me then?”
“Rather not I must take her away for a short time though, Le Sage. I must go to England almost directly with Fleetwood to see about realising our plunder, and I can’t leave Lalanté behind. What do you say?”
There was only one thing to be said under the circumstances, and Le Sage, being a sensible man, said it. Afterwards the two men sat talking matters over till far into the night, even into the small hours.
Chapter Thirty One.
Envoi.
A tiny sea-side village, red roofs and grey church tower nestling between the slope of great hills clothed with velvety green woods, and the uplands beyond brilliant with yellow gorse and crimson heather. And the triangle of sunlit sea just glimpsed, is blue as the sky above.