"Mr. Durrell, sir, I need hardly speak to you of the danger that threatens all of us. As a friend I can promise you an early warning, and a place in our wagons if the French should land."
The elder man stared, and seemed to breathe through scornful nostrils.
"Mr. Benham, I am obliged to you. But I have always managed my own affairs. I wish you good day."
He turned and followed Nance who was walking toward the house. Jasper watched him, and saw his narrow, black figure disappear round the grey angle of the house. Nor was he in the sweetest of tempers as he rode on through the waving furze.
The wind dropped somewhat toward nightfall, and howled less in the Stonehanger chimneys. Nance went to bed early, her face troubled and a little sad. Her father had been morose, reticent, and strange, and she had caught him watching her from his chair beside the fire.
It was near midnight when Anthony Durrell put down the book he was reading, listened a moment, and then went to the porch door. He rapped on it gently with his knuckles. The rap was answered from without.
Durrell opened the door, and the Chevalier de Rothan stepped into the hall.
"Well, sir, any news?"
"Only that young Benham has been here."
"The devil! There will be trouble between me and that young man."