Violet Jacob > Flemington

A ROYAL DUKE
333
round her. The last man she had confronted had
spurned her in the end—through a mistake, it
was true—but the opportunity had been given
him by her own loss of grip in the bewilderment
of a crisis. This one was spurning her too. But
she went on.
“ He performed his work faithfully from that
day forward, as your Royal Highness knew when
you took him to the North. His services are
better known to you, Sir, than to anyone else.
He gave himself up to Captain Callandar as the
last proof that he could take no part with the
rebels. He threw away his life.”
“ That, at least, is true,” said the Duke, with a
sneer. He was becoming exasperated, and the
emphasis which he put on the word ‘that’ brought
the slow blood to her face. She looked at him as
though she saw him across some mud-befouled
stream. Even now her pride rose above the
despair in her heart. He was not sensitive, but
her expression stung him.
“ I am accustomed to truth,” she replied.
He turned his back. There was a silence.
“ I came to ask for Archie’s life,” she said, in
a toneless, steady voice, “but I will go, asking
nothing. Your Royal Highness has nothing to
give that he or I would stoop to take at your
hands.”
He stood doggedly, without turning, and he
did not move until the sound of her sweeping
skirts had died away in the anteroom. Then he
went out, a short, stoutish figure passing along