“I’ll see what he wants,” said Jasper and went off with the servant.
A fire burned in the big hall, but only one lamp was lighted and the illumination did not carry far. A young man and woman waited by the fireplace and got up when Jasper advanced. The girl’s look was embarrassing and her face was pinched by cold. Her clothes were ordinary outdoor clothes, and Jasper thought them cheap. The young man’s look was resolute.
“Mr. Carson? Christopher Carson’s uncle?” he inquired.
Jasper was interested. He thought Blake wanted Alan, but he did not yet know if the young fellow ought to see him.
“Christopher is my nephew. Perhaps you were his friend at the shipyard?”
“He thought me his friend,” the other replied and indicated Mrs. Blake. “I could not leave my wife in the car; when we were on the moors the wind broke the hood. Besides, I rather wanted her support.”
Jasper turned and pointed to a seat in the corner by the big grate.
“When the Hellan wind blows down the fells the cold is keen,” he said, and rang for a servant. “Bring some wine and sandwiches, and let Mrs. Carson know I’ll be engaged for a time.”
Mrs. Blake drained her glass and went to the fire, for she was very cold and bore some strain. Jasper knitted his brows and waited. Mabel thought he harmonized with the big austere hall and dark panelling, but somehow he was like Kit, and she was vaguely comforted. Blake pushed back his glass.
“I thank you for your kindness to my wife, but I mustn’t take your hospitality. Well, I was at Newcastle and I resolved to see you. To begin with, do you know where Kit Carson is?”