"I ask your pardon, my lord, for having so spoken about any member of the family. But I thought it was only right you should know."
"You have acted very kindly." Even to himself his tone is strained and cold. "This Andrews must be silenced," he says, after a little pause, full of bitterness.
"I have seen to that, my lord. After what I said to him, he will hardly speak again to any one on the subject."
"See to it, Simon. Let him fully understand that dismissal will be the result of further talk."
"I will, my lord." Then, very wistfully, "Not that any one would distrust Mr. Dorian in this matter. I feel—I know, he is innocent."
Lord Sartoris looks at him strangely; his lips quiver; he seems old and worn, and as a man might who has just seen his last hope perish.
"I envy you your faith," he says, wearily; "I would give half—nay, all I possess, if I could say that honestly."
Just at this moment there comes an interruption.
"A telegram, my lord," says one of the men, handing in a yellow envelope.
Sartoris, tearing it open, reads hurriedly.