oth
had puffed and coarsened him. Joseph, on the other hand, had never been
aught but ill-favoured.

"Tis a week since Worcester field was fought," grumbled Gregory, looking
lazily sideways at the mullioned windows as he spoke, "and never a word
from the lad."

Joseph shrugged his narrow shoulders and sneered. It was Joseph's habit
to sneer when he spoke, and his words were wont to fit the sneer.

"Doth the lack of news trouble you?" he asked, glancing across the table
at his brother.

Gregory rose without meeting that glance.

"Truth to tell it does trouble me," he muttered.

"And yet," quoth Joseph, "tis a natural thing enough. When battles are
fought it is not uncommon for men to die."

Gregory crossed slowly to the window, and stared out at the trees of the
park which autumn was fast stripping.

"If he were among the fallen--if he were dead then indeed the matter
would be at an end."

"Aye, and well ended."

"You forget Cynthia," Gregory reproved him.

"Forget her? Not I, man. Listen." And he jerked his thumb in the
direction of the wainscot.

To the two men in that rich chamber of Castle Marleigh was borne the
sound--softened by distance of a girlish voice merrily singing.

Joseph laughed a cackle of contempt.

"Is that the song of a maid whose lover comes not back from the wars?"
he asked.

"But bethink you, Joseph, the child suspects not the possibility of his
having fallen."

"Gadswounds, sir, did your daughter give the fellow a thought she must
be anxious. A week yesterday since the battle, and no word from him.
I dare swear, Gregory, there's little in that to warrant his mistress
singing."

"Cynthia is young--a child. She reasons not as you and I, nor seeks to
account for his absence."

"Troubles not to account for it," Joseph amended.

"Be that as it may," returned Gregory irritably, "I would I knew."

"That which we do not know we may sometimes infer. I infer him to be
dead, and there's the end of it."

"What if he should not be?"

"Then, my good fool, he would be here."

"It is unlike you, Joseph, to argue so loosely. What if he should be a
prisoner?"

"Why, then, the plantations will do that which the battle hath left
undone. So that, dead or captive, you see it is all one."

And, lifting his glass to the light, he closed one eye, the better to
survey with the other the rich colour of the wine. Not that Joseph was
curious touching that colour, but he was a juggler in gest