“I have some thirty sovereigns here,” said Maitland; “take them, and we'll settle all when we meet.”
M'Caskey put the purse in his pocket, and, with the uneasy consciousness of a man ashamed of what he was doing, muttered out a few unmeaning words of thanks, and said, “Good-bye!”
“These condottieri rascals have been troublesome fellows in all ages,” said Maitland, as he smoked away alone; “and I suspect they are especially unsuited to our present-day life and its habits. I must rid myself of the Major.”
CHAPTER XI. EXPLANATIONS
By the time Maitland had despatched his man Fenton to meet Count Cafifarelli, and prevent his coming to Lyle Abbey, where his presence would be sure to occasion much embarrassment, the company had retired to their rooms, and all was quiet.
Though Mark was curious to know why and how Maitland had disappeared with his foreign friend, he had grown tired thinking over it, and fallen sound asleep. Nor did he hear Maitland as he entered the room and drew nigh his bedside.
“What's wrong,—what has happened?” cried Mark, as he started up suddenly on his bed.
“Nothing very serious, but still something worth waking you for; but are you sure you are awake?”
“Yes, yes, perfectly. What is it all about? Who are in it?”