“It seems to me as if the storm is abating,” said Sir George Granville to his week-end guest.
He moved a piece on the chess-board and then got up from his chair and went to the window to listen to the rain on the glass.
His guest was so intent on the chess-board that he did not reply. Sir George Granville remained at the window, his attention divided between watching for his opponent’s next move and listening to the storm.
Sir George’s opponent was a young man; that is to say, he was under forty. He was evidently tall, and his well-cut clothes indicated that he possessed the well-built frame which is the natural heritage of most young Englishmen of good class. But his clear-cut, clean-shaven face suggested that its owner was a man of unusual personality and force of character. It was a remarkable face which would have puzzled the student in physiognomy. The upper portion was purely intellectual in type, the forehead broad, and the head well-shaped, but the dark eyes, with a touch of dreaminess and sadness in their depths, contrasted strangely with the energy and determination indicated by the firm mouth and heavy lower jaw.
The guest moved a piece and then looked at his host.
“You are not yourself to-night, Sir George,” he said. “I think we had better finish this game some other time, or cancel it.”
Sir George walked over to the table and looked at the position on the chess-board.
“Perhaps it would be better to cancel it,” he said, “though it is generous on your part to offer to do so, with a piece to the good and the threatening development of your pawns on the queen’s side. But I am off my game to-night. I am too worried about that nephew of mine to give you a good game.”
“It is a bad night to be out,” said the guest. “But surely he would find shelter somewhere in the downs.”
“He may have met with an accident. He must have seen this storm coming. He should have been home hours ago in any case.”