“Sir, I beg your pardon,” I made answer. “I will let you in at the front,”—for when he spoke more, I heard the accent of a gentleman.
“Pray don’t give yourself that trouble, Cousin Cary.”
And to my utter amazement, the beggar jumped in at the window, which was low and easily scaled.
“Angus!” I almost screamed.
“At your service, Madam.”
“When did you leave France? Where are you come from? Have you been to Abbotscliff? Are—”
“Halt! Can’t fight more than three men at once. And I won’t answer a question till I have had something to eat. Forgive me, Cary, but I am very nearly starving.”
I rushed into the kitchen, and astonished Caitlin by laying violent hands on a pan of broth which she was going to serve for supper. I don’t know what I said to her. I hastily poured the broth into a basin, and seizing a loaf of bread and a knife, dashed back to Angus.
“Eat that now, Angus. You shall have something better by-and-by.”
He ate like a man who was nearly starving, as he had said. When he had finished, he said,—