Please God, he would win her!--and through a piece of honourable
work--the cleansing of an ugly corner of human life. A nobler ambition
than he had ever yet been conscious of, entered in. He felt himself a
better man, with a purpose in the world.
Nor, at this critical moment, did he forget his uncle--the man who had
been a father to him in his orphaned boyhood. What pleasure the dear old
fellow would have taken in this new opening--and in Melrose's marvellous
possessions! By the way--Melrose had said nothing about the gems for a
long time past, and Faversham was well content to leave them in his
temporary keeping. But his superstitious feeling about them--and all men
have some touch of superstition--was stronger than ever. It was as though
he protested anew to some hovering shape, which took the aspect now of
Mackworth, now of Fortuna--"Stand by me!--even as I hold by them."
The chiming clock in the gallery--a marvel of French _horlogerie_, made
for the Regent Orleans--had just finished striking eleven. Melrose, who
had been speaking with energy through the soft, repeated notes, threw
himself back in his chair, and lit a cigarette. His white hair shone
against the panelled background of the room, and, beneath it, framed in
bushy brows still black, a pair of menacing eyes fixed themselves on
Faversham.
Faversham remained for a minute at the table, looking down upon it, his
hand resting on the document from which he had been reading.
Pages:
246
247
248
249
250
251
252
253
254
255
256
257
258
259
260
261
262
263
264
265
266
267
268
269
270