The Bramleighs of Bishop's Folly Part 83

"If your Excellency," said he, "tells me it is in this wise prisoners are treated in your country, I have no more to say."

"Well, well; let him be brought up," said L'Estrange, hastily, and more than ever anxious to get free of this Austrian Dogberry.

Nothing more was said on either side while the brigadier went down to bring up the prisoner. The half darkened room, the stillness, the mournful ticking of a clock that made the silence more significant, all impressed L'Estrange with a mingled feeling of weariness and depression; and that strange melancholy that steals over men at times, when all the events of human life seem sad-colored and dreary, now crept over him, when the shuffling sounds of feet, and the clanging of a heavy sabre, apprised him that the escort was approaching.

"We have no treaty with any of the Italian Governments," said the Podesta, "for extradition; and if the man be a galley-slave, as we suspect, we throw all the responsibility of his case on you." As he spoke, the door opened, and a young man with a blue flannel shirt and linen trousers entered, freeing himself from the hands of the gendarmes with a loose shake, as though to say, "In presence of my countrymen in authority, I owe no submission to these." He leaned on the ma.s.sive rail that formed a sort of barrier in the room, and with one hand pushed back the long hair that fell heavily over his face.

"What account do you give of yourself, my man?" said L'Estrange, in a tone half-commanding, half-encouraging.

"I have come here to ask my consul to send me on to England, or to some seaport where I may find a British vessel," said the man, and his voice was husky and weak, like that of one just out of illness.

"How did you come to these parts?" asked L'Estrange.

"I was picked up at sea by a Greek trabaccolo, and landed at Antivari; the rest of the way I came on foot."

"Were you cast away? or how came it that you were picked up?"

"I made my escape from the Bagni at Ischia. I had been a galley-slave there." The bold effrontery of the declaration was made still more startling by a sort of low laugh which followed his words.

"You seem to think it a light matter to have been at the galleys, my friend," said L'Estrange, half reprovingly. "How did it happen that an Englishman should be in such a discreditable position?"

"It's a long story--too long for a hungry man to tell," said the sailor; "perhaps too long for your own patience to listen to. At all events, it has no bearing on my present condition."

"I'm not so sure of that, my good fellow. Men are seldom sentenced to the galleys for light offences; and I 'd like to know something of the man I'm called on to befriend."

"I make you the same answer I gave before--the story would take more time than I have well strength for. Do you know," said he, earnestly, and in a voice of touching significance, "it is twenty-eight hours since I have tasted food?"

L'Estrange leaned forward in his chair, like one expecting to hear more, and eager to catch the words aright; and then rising, walked over to the rail where the prisoner stood. "You have not told me your name," said he, in a voice of kindly meaning.

"I have been called Sam Rogers for some time back; and I mean to be Sam Rogers a little longer."

"But it is not your real name?" asked L'Estrange, eagerly.

The other made no reply for some seconds; and then, moving his band carelessly through his hair, said, in a half-reckless way, "I declare, sir, I can't see what you have to do with my name, whether I be Sam Rogers, or--or--anything else I choose to call myself. To you--I believe, at least--to you I am simply a distressed British sailor."

"And you are Jack Bramleigh?" said L'Estrange, in a low tone, scarcely above a whisper, while he grasped the sailor's hands, and shook them warmly.

"And who are you?" said Jack, in a voice shaken and faltering.

"Don't you know me, my poor dear fellow? Don't you remember George L'Estrange?"

What between emotion and debility, this speech unmanned him so that he staggered back a couple of paces, and sank down heavily, not fainting, but too weak to stand, too much overcome to utter.

CHAPTER LVI. AT LADY AUGUSTA'S

"The Count Pracontal, my Lady," said a very grave-looking groom of the chambers, as Lady Augusta sat watching a small golden squirrel swinging by his tail from the branch of a camellia tree.

"Say I am engaged, Hislop--particularly engaged. I do not receive--or, wait; tell him I am much occupied, but if he is quite sure his visit shall not exceed five minutes, he may come in."

Count Pracontal seemed as though the permission had reached his own ears, for he entered almost immediately, and, bowing deeply and deferentially, appeared to wait leave to advance further into the room.

"Let me have my chocolate, Hislop;" and, as the man withdrew, she pointed to a chair, and said, "There. When did you come back?"

Pracontal, however, had dropped on his knee before her, and pressed her hand to his lips with a fervid devotion, saying, "How I have longed and waited for this moment!"

"I shall ring the bell, sir, if you do not be seated immediately. I asked when you returned?"

"An hour ago, my Lady--less than an hour ago. I did not dare to write; and then I wished to be myself the bearer of my own good news."

"What good news are these?"

"That I have, if not won my suit, secured the victory. The registries have been discovered--found in the very spot indicated in the journal.

The entries are complete; and nothing is wanting to establish the legality of the marriage. Oh, I entreat you, do not listen to me so coldly! You know well for what reason I prize this success. You know well what gives its brightest l.u.s.tre in my eyes."

"Pray be narrative now--the emotional can be kept for some other time.

Who says that this means success?"

"My lawyer, Mr. Kelson. He calls the suit won. He proves his belief, for he has advanced me money to pay off my debt to Longworth, and to place me in a position of ease and comfort."

"And what is Kelson; is he one of the judges?"

"Of course not. He is one of the leading solicitors of London; a very grave, thoughtful, cautious man. I have shown you many of his letters.

You must remember him."

"No; I never remember people; that is, if they have not personally interested me. I think you have grown thin. You look as if you had been ill."

"I have fretted a good deal,--worried myself; and my anxiety about you has made me sleepless and feverish."

"About _me!_ Why, I was never better in my life."

"Your looks say as much; but I meant my anxiety to lay my tidings at your feet, and with them myself and my whole future."

"You may leave the chocolate there, Hislop," as the man entered with the tray; "unless Count Pracontal would like some."

"Thanks, my Lady," said he, bowing his refusal.

"You are wrong, then," said she, as the servant withdrew. "Hislop makes it with the slightest imaginable flavor of the cherry laurel; and it is most soothing. Is n't he a love?"

"Hislop?"

"No, my darling squirrel yonder. The poor dear has been ill these two days. He bit Sir Marcus Guff, and that horrid creature seems to have disagreed with the darling, for he has pined ever since. Don't caress him; he hates men, except Monsignore Alberti, whom, probably, he mistakes for an old lady. And what becomes of all the Bramleighs--are they left penniless?"

"By no means. I do not intend to press my claim farther than the right to the estates. I am not going to proceed for--I forget the legal word--the acc.u.mulated profits. Indeed, if Mr. Bramleigh be only animated by the spirit I have heard attributed to him, there is no concession that I am not disposed to make him."

"What droll people Frenchmen are! They dash their morality, like their cookery, with something discrepant. They fancy it means 'piquancy.'

What, in the name of all romance, have you to do with the Bramleighs?