and I'm just stifling here."
They descended to the terrace together. "Where would you like to go?" he
asked.
"To the village. I may want to telegraph, you know."
They turned into the avenue, but Miss Desborough stopped.
"Is there not a shorter cut across the fields," she asked, "over there?"
"There is," said the consul.
They both turned into the footpath which led to the farm and stile.
After a pause she said, "Did you ever talk with that poor old man?"
"No."
"Then you don't know if he really was crazy, as they think."
"No. But they may have thought an old man's forgetfulness of present
things and his habit of communing with the past was insanity. For all
that he was a plucky, independent old fellow, with a grim purpose that
was certainly rational."
"I suppose in his independence he would not have taken favors from these
people, or anybody?"
"I should think not."
"Don't you think it was just horrid--their leaving him alone in the
rain, when he might have been only in a fit?"
"The doctor says he died suddenly of heart disease," said the consul.
"It might have happened at any moment and without warning."
"Ah, that was the coroner's verdict, then," said Miss Desborough
quickly.
"The coroner did not think it necessary to have any inquest after Lord
Beverdale's statement. It wouldn't have been very joyous for the Priory
party. And I dare say he thought it might not be very cheerful for YOU."
"How very kind!" said the young girl, with a quick laugh. "But do you
know that it's about the only thing human, original, and striking that
has happened in this place since I've been here! And so unexpected,
considering how comfortably everything is ordered here beforehand."
"Yet you seemed to like that kind of thing very well, last evening,"
said the consul mischievously.
"That was last night," retorted Miss Desborough; "and you know the line,
'Colors seen by candlelight do not look the same by day.' But I'm going
to be very consistent to-day, for I intend to go over to that poor man's
|