“First tell me, Rose, how is my uncle?”
“He is well, Humphrey, but he has mourned for you ever since Jasper came home and told us of your death.”
“Ah! Jasper came home and told you of my death, did he? And by what manner of death did I die, according to Master Jasper?”
“He said you were drowned at Scarborough, in coming from some vessel where you and he had been paying a visit at night to the captain.”
“And did no one doubt him, Rose? Were there no inquiries made?”
“I doubted him, Humphrey. I felt sure there was some strange mystery, but how could I find it out? And what could be done—they could not drag Scarborough Bay for your body. Humphrey, did Jasper play some trick upon you—did he get you out of the way?”
“He did, Rose. Yea, he got me out of the way so well that I have been right round the world since last I set foot in Beechcot. Think of that, my dear. Right round the world! I have seen Mexico and the Pacific and Java and the Celebes and Africa, and I know not what, and here I am again.”
“But you have suffered, Humphrey? Where—and how?”
So I told her very briefly of what had happened to me in the cells of the Inquisition, and as I spoke, her sweet face was filled with compassion and her eyes were bright with tears, and she held my hands tightly clasped in her own as if she would never let them go again.