He gave no thought to the fact that Crispin's grievance against the Ashburns was well-founded; that they had wrecked his life even as they had sought to destroy it; even as eighteen years ago they had destroyed his wife's. His only thought was Cynthia; his only wish was to possess her. Besides that, justice and honour itself were of small account.
“It is but a slight matter,” answered Joseph. “A matter that I might entrust to one of my grooms.”
That whilst his grooms lay drugged the matter was so pressing that his messenger must set out that very night, Joseph did not think of adding.
“I would, sir,” answered the boy, “that the task were great and difficult.”
“Yes, yes,” answered Joseph with biting sarcasm, “we are acquainted with both your courage and your resource.” He sat silent and thoughtful for some moments, then with a sudden sharp glance at the lad:
“You shall have this chance of setting yourself right with us,” he said. Then abruptly he added.
“Go make ready for a journey. You must set out within the hour for London. Take what you may require and arm yourself; then return to me here.”
Gregory, who, despite his sluggish wits, divined—partly, at least—what was afoot, made shift to speak. But his brother silenced him with a glance.
“Go,” Joseph said to the boy. And, without comment, Kenneth rose and left them.
“What would you do?” asked Gregory when the door had closed.