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s for her vanity. But his joy must be in vindication of what was noble, not in making suffer what was vile. Yesterday he had been her puppet, her Jumping-Jack; to-day it was as avenging angel that he would appear before her. The gods had mocked him who was now their minister. Their minister? Their master, as being once more master of himself. It was they who had plotted his undoing. Because they loved him they were fain that he should die young. The Dobson woman was but their agent, their cat's-paw. By her they had all but got him. Not quite! And now, to teach them, through her, a lesson they would not soon forget, he would go forth. Shaking with laughter, the gods leaned over the thunder-clouds to watch him. He went forth. On the well-whitened doorstep he was confronted by a small boy in uniform bearing a telegram. "Duke of Dorset?" asked the small boy. Opening the envelope, the Duke saw that the message, with which was a prepaid form for reply, had been handed in at the Tankerton post-office. It ran thus: Deeply regret inform your grace last night two black owls came and perched on battlements remained there through night hooting at dawn flew away none knows whither awaiting instructions Jellings The Duke's face, though it grew white, moved not one muscle. Somewhat shamed now, the gods ceased from laughing. The Duke looked from the telegram to the boy. "Have you a pencil?" he asked. "Yes, my Lord," said the boy, producing a stump of pencil. Holding the prepaid form against the door, the Duke wrote: Jellings Tankerton Hall Prepare vault for funeral Monday Dorset His handwriting was as firmly and minutely beautiful as ever. Only in that he forgot there was nothing to pay did he belie his calm. "Here," he said to the boy, "is a shilling; and you may keep the change." "Thank you, my Lord," said the boy, and went his way, as happy as a postman. XV Humphrey Greddon, in the Duke's place, would have taken a pinch of snuff. But he could not have made that gesture with a finer air than the Duke gave to its modern equivalent. In the art of taking and lighting a cigarette, there was one man who had no rival in Europe. This time he outdid even himself. "Ah," you say, "but 'pluck' is one thing, endurance another. A man who doesn't reel on receipt of his death-warrant may yet break down when he has h
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