“Truth to tell it does trouble me,” he muttered.
“And yet,” quoth Joseph, “tis a natural thing enough. When battles are fought it is not uncommon for men to die.”
Gregory crossed slowly to the window, and stared out at the trees of the park which autumn was fast stripping.
“If he were among the fallen—if he were dead then indeed the matter would be at an end.”
“Aye, and well ended.”
“You forget Cynthia,” Gregory reproved him.
“Forget her? Not I, man. Listen.” And he jerked his thumb in the direction of the wainscot.
To the two men in that rich chamber of Castle Marleigh was borne the sound—softened by distance of a girlish voice merrily singing.
Joseph laughed a cackle of contempt.
“Is that the song of a maid whose lover comes not back from the wars?” he asked.