“There are the sentinels outside Whitehall,” replied Patrick, in a low voice. “But, indeed, your question puts me in a difficulty. No; the army is not entirely disbanded, of course. But the British army—. Did you ever hear, Wimpole, of the great destiny of the Empire?”
“I seem to have heard the phrase,” replied his companion.
“It is in four acts,” said Dalroy. “Victory over barbarians. Employment of barbarians. Alliance with barbarians. Conquest by barbarians. That is the great destiny of Empire.”
“I think I begin to see what you mean,” returned Dorian Wimpole. “Of course Ivywood and the authorities do seem very prone to rely on the sepoy troops.”
“And other troops as well,” said Patrick. “I think you will be surprised when you see them.”
He tramped on for a while in silence and then said, with some air of abruptness, which yet did not seem to be entirely a changing of the subject,
“Do you know the man who lives now on the estate next to Ivywood?”
“No,” replied Dorian, “I am told he keeps himself very much to himself.”
“And his estate, too,” said Patrick, rather gloomily. “If you would climb his garden-wall, Wimpole, I think you would find an answer to a good many of your questions. Oh, yes, the right honourable gentlemen are making full provision for public order and national defence—in a way.”
He fell into an almost sullen silence again; and several villages had been passed before he spoke again.