"Better send for her, eh?" said he to Captain Brand.
The heir-expectant turned a dark face, disfigured by impatience, upon the lawyer.
"It cant make much difference," he answered, dryly. "She can hear her part of it again. Go on."
"On the contrary, it makes all the difference in the world," retorted the lawyer, with unexpected heat; "and I refuse to break these seals until Margaret Walsingham is present."
"Oh!"
St. Udo Brand raised his level brows and subsided into stolid indifference.
A messenger carried a line from Mr. Davenport to Miss Walsingham's room, and carried down again a message from her, which promised her presence in a few minutes.
Some time passed in irksome silence, during which the captain beat the devil's tatoo on the table, and darted mocking glances at the important Mr. Davenport.
Then the sound of a slippered foot crossing the black and brown hall floor sent the captain sauntering to the remotest window, there to watch the struggles of a sparrow caught in the wire framework which protected the espaliers; so that there was no one to welcome Margaret Walsingham in, save old Dr. Gay, who compassionately pressed her cold band as he led her to a chair, and with his heart pitied the captain's future bride.
She passed, with heavy eyes cast down, to a seat behind a bronze statue of St. George and the dragon, where the deepest shadows lurked, and kept the giant warrior between her and that distant window until the will should be declared.