“Mr. Rolfe—my name is Davenant——”
Gideon started, and, with a muttered oath, raised the ax.
Stephen’s face turned as white as his spotless collar, but he did not shrink.
“My name is Davenant,” he repeated—“Stephen Davenant. I am afraid the name has some unpleasant associations attached to it. I beg to remind you, if that should be the case, that those associations are not connected with any fault of mine.”
“Go on. Your name is Stephen Davenant?”
“Stephen Davenant. I am the nephew of Squire Davenant—Ralph Davenant. The nephew of Ralph Davenant. I think you can guess my business with you.”
“Do you come from—him?” he asked, hoarsely.
“In a certain sense, yes,” he said. “No doubt you have heard the sad news. My uncle is dead.”
“Dead!” he repeated fiercely.
“Dead. My uncle died three days ago.”