"Everything. It was as if his words made a gap in that wall of fog I told you of this morning, and of a sudden I could see the world beyond. Dick Ingle is come back. He and Claiborne are to attack St. Mary's. Is that true?"
"It is true," sighed Huntoon.
"And what will you do about it?"
To Huntoon this spectre, raised suddenly, as from mental death, seemed like the embodiment of his own conscience risen to confront him.
"What can I do?" he asked.
Again Neville drew his hand across his forehead, as though he were striving to clear away the mist that still clouded his faculties.
"Ingle—Calvert—St. Mary's," he repeated, as though the words were talismans to prevent his mind from slipping away again.
"Ay, 'tis a coil—a grievous coil. I see not what I can do. I have no authority to act, and there is no time to call the Council together—"
"For you I know not. For me one thing is clear, I must go."
"Surely the Calverts and their friends have not treated you so well that you owe them either aid or warning."