For the hundredth time she wondered what line Gramarye would take….
It seemed, mercifully, that the fell influence of the estate was not to have things all its own way. While the sick man in his delirium talked much of Gramarye, he spoke of Valerie too—frequently. For hours together, sometimes, he dwelt upon their love. As a rule, he debated with himself whether it was fair to her to let her see him again. (Listening to these heart-searchings, Valerie's heart burned within her.) Then he would call his Sealyham and speak to him of the lady, asking if she were not wonderful and a sight for sore eyes. "When she calls you, Patch, aren't you proud of your name? And she took your head in her hands to-day. I saw her. Such sweet, pretty hands…. And you looked in her eyes, Patch, and then you licked her nose—very gently, like a good little dog…." Then, again, Anthony's life as a footman was often remembered. Mr. and Mrs. Bumble were gratefully discussed. The Alisons—George especially—figured constantly. Even his life in the Army was sometimes mentioned, and other older days, hard to identify…. Gramarye held a good hand—undoubtedly: but there were other cards in the pack.
The door opened noiselessly, and a fresh-faced nurse stole into the darkened room. Valerie and she exchanged whispers, and, after another glance at the silent figure upon the bed, the lady of Bell Hammer gave place to the professional and made her way slowly downstairs.
* * * * *
It was past three o'clock of a sullen March afternoon when Mr. Peter
Every dismissed his parade.
The men turned away listlessly, hollow-eyed.
Only the little lame engineer said anything at all, and that was an inaudible communication to the three great sailors, whose hearing was gone. Gloomily the latter watched his fingers stumble over their rude translation of Every's last words….
"So there you are. Colonel Winchester's gone. Major Lyveden's too ill to ever come back. Without the authority of one of these two, not another penny can be spent on this estate. Obviously the work's got to stop. I know you don't want wages, but you've got to live…. And I've come, as Major Lyveden's friend, to tell you this before the Law steps in—as it will—and does it more bluntly.
"I know it's rough on you, and I'm devilish sorry, but it's got to be faced…. And, as I say, I'm commissioned to offer you all your passage to Canada and fifty pounds apiece to tide you over there till you can get going.
"You chaps think it over.