Nigel did as he was desired.
“What do you make of it?” asked the General, addressing himself in an undertone to his son.
“That it’s just what you say, father—nonsense; or perhaps something worse. It looks to me like a trick to extort money.”
“Ah! But do you think, Nigel, that Henry has any hand in it?”
“I hardly know what to think, father,” answered Nigel, continuing the whispered conversation. “It grieves me to say what I think; but I must confess it looks against him. If he has fallen into the hands of brigands—which I cannot believe, and I hope is not true—how should they know where to send such a letter? How could they tell he has a father capable of paying such a ransom for him, unless he has put them up to it? It is probable enough that he’s in Rome, where this fellow says he has come from. That may all be. But a captive in the keeping of brigands! The thing is too preposterous!”
“Most decidedly it is. But what am I to make of this application?”
“To my mind,” pursued the insinuating councillor, “the explanation is easy enough. He’s run through his thousand pounds, as might have been expected, and he now wants more. I am sorry to believe such a thing, father, but it looks as if this is a tale got up to work upon your feelings, and get a fresh remittance of cash. At all events, he has not stinted himself in the sum asked for.”
“Five thousand pounds!” exclaimed the General, again glancing over the letter. “He must think me crazy. He shall not have as many pence—no, not if it were even true what he says about being with brigands.”
“Of course that part of the story is all stuff—although it’s clear he has written the letter. It’s in his own hand, and that’s his signature.”
“Certainly it is. My God! to think that this is the first I should hear from him since that other letter. A pretty way of seeking a reconciliation with me! Bah! the trick won’t take. I’m too old a soldier to be deceived by it.”