“But our lives are in danger now, Millicent—in much greater danger than mine would be when looking out for him. But there seems no guarding against attacks like this; I mean to hunt him down, if it takes me a year. I have nothing special to do, and cannot employ my time more usefully.”
When the ladies went up to bed the Squire said:
“Come into the library, Mark, and we will smoke a pipe, and have a talk over this business.” He touched the bell. “Have you got a good fire in the library, Ramoo?”
“Yes, sahib, very good.”
“Then take a bottle of number one bin of port there—and a couple of glasses.”
When they were quietly seated, glasses filled, and the long pipes alight, the Squire said: “I want to have a serious talk with you, Mark. What I am going to say will surprise you a good deal. I had not intended to tell you for another four years—that is to say, not until Millicent came of age—but after that affair tonight, I feel that my life is so uncertain that I ought not to delay letting you know the truth. I suppose you agree with me that it was Bastow who shot at me this evening?”
“I have not the least doubt about that, father.”
“I will not say that he shot at me,” the Squire said, “for he may have shot at his father; the villain is quite capable of that. It was his father who brought me upon him, and though I effected his capture eight years ago I don't suppose he cares which of us he killed. However, the point is not what he aimed at, but whether it was he, and that I take there is no doubt about. He missed me this time, but his next shot may be more successful, At any rate, I think that it is high time that I told you the story.”
And, beginning with the arrival of Colonel Thorndyke at his place, he repeated the conversation that he had had with him. Several times in the early portion of his narrative he was interrupted by exclamations of surprise from his son.
“Then Millicent is really my uncle's heiress!” exclaimed Mark, when he heard the request the Colonel had made of the Squire.