Part 1 (2/2)

”H'm--ah--yes,” he said. ”Well, well,” he added, and laying an arm upon Scrope's sleeve. ”A good fellow, Scrope.”

Scrope made no response whatever, but of a sudden Captain Tessin banged his fist upon the table.

”January 6th two years ago. Why,” and he leaned forward across the table towards Scrope, ”Knightley fell in the sortie that morning, and his body was never recovered. The corporal said this fugitive was an Englishman. What if--”

Major Shackleton shook his head and interrupted.

”Knightley fell by my side. I saw the blow; it must have broken his skull.”

There was a sound of footsteps in the pa.s.sage, the door was opened and the fugitive appeared in the doorway. All eyes turned to him instantly, and turned from him again with looks of disappointment.

Wyley remarked, however, that Scrope, who had barely glanced at the man, rose from his chair. He did not move from the table; only he stood where before he had sat.

The new-comer was tall; a beard plastered with mud, as if to disguise its colour, straggled over his burned and wasted cheeks, but here and there a wisp of yellow hair flecked with grey curled from his hood, a pair of blue eyes shone with excitement from hollow sockets, and he wore the violet-and-white robes of a Moorish soldier.

It was his dress at which Major Shackleton looked.

”One of our renegade deserters tired of his new friends,” he said with some contempt.

”Renegades do not wear chains,” replied the man in the doorway, lifting from beneath his long sleeves his manacled hands. He spoke in a weak, hoa.r.s.e voice, and with a rusty accent; he rested a hand against the jamb of the door as though he needed support. Tessin sprang up from his chair, and half crossed the room.

The stranger took an uncertain step forward. His legs rattled as he moved, and Wyley saw that the links of broken fetters were twisted about his ankles.

”Have two years made so vast a difference?” he asked. ”Well, they were years of the bastinado, and I do not wonder.”

Tessin peered into his face. ”By G.o.d, it is!” he exclaimed.

”Knightley!”

”Thanks,” said Knightley with a smile.

Tessin reached out to take Knightley's hands, then instantly stopped, glanced from Knightley to Scrope and drew back.

”Knightley!” cried the Major in a voice of welcome, rising in his seat. Then he too glanced expectantly at Scrope and sat down again.

Scrope made no movement, but stood with his eyes cast down on the table like a man lost in thought. It was evident to Wyley that both Shackleton and Tessin had obeyed the sporting instinct, and had left the floor clear for the two men. It was no less evident that Knightley remarked their action and did not understand it. For his eyes travelled from face to face, and searched each with a wistful anxiety for the reason of their reserve.

”Yes, I am Knightley,” he said timidly. Then he drew himself to his full height. ”Ensign Knightley of the Tangier Foot,” he cried.

No one answered. The company waited upon Scrope in a suspense so keen that even the ringing challenge of the words pa.s.sed unheeded.

Knightley spoke again, but now in a stiff, formal voice, and slowly.

”Gentlemen, I fear very much that two years make a world of difference. It seems they change one who had your goodwill into a most unwelcome stranger.”

His voice broke in a sob; he turned to the door, but staggered as he turned and caught at a chair. In a moment Major Shackleton was beside him.

”What, lad? Have we been backward? Blame our surprise, not us.”

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