“Take that, Becky Lawson, and mop your eyes no more.”
She gaped.
“How dost know my name is Becky Lawson? I havena been ca’d so these three-and-twenty years—not since a’ married good man here, and put Jock’s faither in ‘s grave yander.”
“The devil told me,” he answered, with a strange laugh, and, spurring, they were quickly out of sight. They rode for a couple of miles without speaking. Jacques knew his master, and did not break the silence. Presently they came over a hill, and down upon a little bridge. Belward drew rein, and looked up the valley. About two miles beyond the roofs and turrets of the Court showed above the trees. A whimsical smile came to his lips.
“Brillon,” he said, “I’m in sight of home.”
The half-breed cocked his head. It was the first time that Belward had called him “Brillon”—he had ever been “Jacques.” This was to be a part of the new life. They were not now hunting elk, riding to “wipe out” a camp of Indians or navvies, dining the owner of a rancho or a deputation from a prairie constituency in search of a member, nor yet with a senator at Washington, who served tea with canvas-back duck and tooth-picks with dessert. Once before had Jacques seen this new manner—when Belward visited Parliament House at Ottawa, and was presented to some notable English people, visitors to Canada. It had come to these notable folk that Mr. Gaston Belward had relations at Ridley Court, and that of itself was enough to command courtesy. But presently, they who would be gracious for the family’s sake, were gracious for the man’s. He had that which compelled interest—a suggestive, personal, distinguished air. Jacques knew his master better than any one else knew him; and yet he knew little, for Belward was of those who seem to give much confidence, and yet give little—never more than he wished.
“Yes, monsieur, in sight of home,” Jacques replied, with a dry cadence.
“Say ‘sir,’ not ‘monsieur,’ Brillon; and from the time we enter the Court yonder, look every day and every hour as you did when the judge asked you who killed Tom Daly.”
Jacques winced, but nodded his head. Belward continued:
“What you hear me tell is what you can speak of; otherwise you are blind and dumb. You understand?” Jacques’s face was sombre, but he said quickly: “Yes—sir.”