They left the room; and after a short interval returned, bringing Colonel Lindsay with them. Introductions followed, and he took his seat at the table. No one present made mention of the time which had elapsed since last he had visited them. Many changes of a painful character had taken place during the interval, and the Colonel avoided all mention of them until he found himself alone with his old friend. But when Patricia and her sisters had left the dining-room, and Oliver with a slight apology had followed them, the Colonel, in a few feeling words, referred to the death of Squire Peregrine's wife and daughter; then suddenly changing his tone, he added: ‘And where is the boy? Where is Bertram?’
Squire Peregrine's face grew of an ashen paleness, as in a low voice he answered: ‘Lindsay, I have no son.’
‘Dead?’ said the Colonel in a penetrating tone, as if he would read the heart of his old friend.
‘To me and my family for ever. Name him no more!’
The Colonel took no notice of his tone. ‘His faults?’ he pressed—‘his faults?’
No one else would have so dared to interrogate Squire Peregrine; yet again he answered: ‘Abduction and forgery;’ and his old friend noticed that he placed the word forgery last.
‘I do not believe it, Charles,’ he said calmly. ‘Against whom were these crimes committed?’
‘Against a pure and innocent village girl, and against myself. He fled, and all I could do was to try not to discover him. The girl is dead. To the last she shielded him. He is the first Peregrine who has so fallen, and his name is cut off from amongst us. God grant he may be dead!’
‘He is innocent!’ returned the Colonel in a firm tone.
Squire Peregrine stared at him as if he thought him mad. ‘How can you prove that?’ he said hurriedly.