“Pass, friend,” said the sentry, grounding his gun with a clang.
“Ah,” thought I, as I walked up the well-known path, remembering the half-hour I had been kept waiting at my last visit, “it’s something to be an officer and a gentleman after all.”
Chapter Thirty Five.
His honour escapes his enemies at last.
It was less than a year since I had seen Knockowen. But all seemed changed. Weeds and grass were on the paths, the flower-beds were unkempt, the fences were broken in places, damp stains were spread over the house front. Everywhere were signs of neglect and decay. Had I not known his honour to be a wealthy man, I should have supposed him an impecunious person with no income to maintain his property. As it was, there was some other cause to seek, and that cause I set down to the absence of Miss Kit.
Twice between the pier and the house I was challenged by sentries, and when I reached the door I noticed that the lower windows were shuttered and barred like those of a prison.
I announced myself to the servant who answered my summons as I had done to the sentinels, without giving my name, and was presently shown into his honour’s room at the back of the house, which, as all the shutters were closed, was lit by candles, though it was still daylight.
I was shocked to see how Mr Gorman was changed. The sly, surly expression had given place to a hunted, suspicious look. His face was haggard and pale and his beard unkempt. He started at any little sound, and his mouth, once firm, now looked weak and irresolute. Worse still, there was a flavour of spirits about the room and the man which told its own tale, and accounted for his bloodshot eyes and shaking fingers as he looked up.