"You are trembling," says Lord Sartoris. "Sit down. This news, whatever it is, has unstrung you."
"It has," cries Simon, with vehemence. "I am trembling; I am unstrung. How can I be otherwise when I hear such a slander put upon the boy I have watched from his cradle?"
"You are speaking of——?" demands Sartoris, with an effort.
"Mr. Dorian." He says this in a very low tone; and tears, that always come so painfully and so slowly to the old, shine in his eyes. "His sad complexion wears grief's mourning livery." He covers his face with his hands.
Sartoris, rising from his seat, goes over to the window, and so stands that his face cannot be seen.
"What have you got to say about Mr. Branscombe?" he asks, in a harsh, discordant tone.
"My lord, it is an impertinence my speaking at all," says Gale.
"Go on. Let me know the worst. I can hardly be more miserable than I am," returns Sartoris.
"It was Andrews, the under-gardener, was telling me," begins Simon, without any further attempt at hesitation. "This morning, early, I met him near the Ash Grove. 'Simon,' he says, 'I want to speak wi'ye. I have a secret on my mind.'
"'If you have, my man, keep it,' says I. 'I want none o' your secrets.' For in truth he is often very troublesome, my lord, though a well-meaning youth at bottom.