"You are pleased, Mr. Sydney? Galva does not know that it is a throne I am offering her. I will make her a queen, she—what are you looking at, Mr. Sydney?"
Edward drew his eyes back from their contemplation of the tree tops.
"I was thinking," he said slowly.
The duke waited.
"——Yes, I was thinking," went on Edward, "whether what you have told me—oh, damn it all, you've got to know. Come inside, I think I remember seeing a bottle of wine in there, and I have a story to tell—no, not a word until we have found the bottle and you have heard the story." And the duke, mystified into silence, followed him into the house.
The dining-room still showed some signs of the late struggle, but the débris had been in part cleared away, and old Teresa was rubbing vigorously at the blood stain on the oaken floor. She rose from her knees as the men entered, and taking her bucket, slipped from the room. As the door closed behind her the duke broke the silence.
"I really cannot understand the way you have taken my news, Mr. Sydney," he began, a little haughtily, and Edward held up his hand.
"Of course you can't, I can't get the hang of it myself all at once. Sit there, will you? This Chianti is excellent"; then, when the men were seated facing each other across the wood fire—
"You will remember hearing about the tragedy at the Palace at Corbo fifteen years back. I expect you have heard the details over and over again. When the dynasty of the Estratos was all but wiped out——"
"All but, Mr. Sydney?"