He dipped his hand into his holster; drew out a pistol; and handed it to
me swiftly. He took a little bag from his pocket, and muttered, “The
barker’s loaded. Here’s powder and ball. In case you need it, lad. You
go back!”
I answered, “Yes, I’ll go back, and I’ll remain till I hear from Mr.
Bradbury and understand his wishes.”
He said, “I promise you you’ll hear from us at once, lad!”—and as I
plunged up the bank, he turned his cob and rode off rapidly.
_Chapter XXVII_. _Suspicions of Mr. Charles Craike_
It was afternoon when I climbed back through the breach in the wall and
dropped into the garden. I had noted, as I went through the garden that
morning, an arbour overgrown with honeysuckle; in the sunshine now it was
a pavilion of gold and green. I was hurrying by this arbour when I was
startled to hear my uncle’s voice.
“Nephew!” he called; and, turning, I saw him in the arbour, lounging
indolently on an old garden seat of marble, yellow with age and stains;
his arms outstretched along its back; he seemed bloodless, ivory-white,
in the green shade.
“Nephew!” he called again, and beckoned to me. Much as I feared and
hated him I obeyed him. He smiled benignly on me; observing my colour
and the disorder of my dress, he asked, “Why, nephew, nephew, into what
mischief have you been straying? You’re too old for boyish pranks, and I
assume too young for philandering.”