Back went the pipe into Sergeant Bracy’s pocket. He drew himself from his seat; fell, unconsciously, once more into military bearing, and made for the stairs to seek his officer. Chitterley followed, stirred into a fleeting return of energy. II THE TESTAMENT The Lord Constable halted on the first platform and flung from his head the hat with the singed plumes. His son looked at him in some anxiety: he had felt his father’s hand press ever more heavily on his shoulder as they came up the winding steps. Between the ash-powdered white locks, the handsome face struck him as more than usually drawn and pallid. “A cup of wine for his lordship, Chitterley.—Haste!” cried he. Rockhurst staggered slightly and sank down upon a stone bench; then looked up at his son and smiled. “’Tis but a passing giddiness. All thanks, good lad!” Even as he spoke the smile was succeeded by a heavy sigh. Scarce twenty-two, and his boy to wear so careworn a countenance! But a year ago, before their great trouble, he had tenderly mocked the boy for his over-youthfulness…! Here was a man with sad, haunted eyes, and features set with silent endurance of pain. And all the boyhood that had been the father’s delight was lost forever. “’Tis as if the patience of God were worn out,” he went on, as though speaking to himself, after a while, during which he had gazed wistfully at the distant conflagration. “Well for those who can say in their heart that no sin of theirs has cried aloud for vengeance.” And again the heavy sigh escaped his lips. The anxiety grew deeper in Harry Rockhurst’s eyes; he took the cup of wine from Chitterley’s hand (half crazed his fellow-retainers deemed him, but alert enough still in all that concerned his master’s service):— “Drink, my lord,” said he, “you need it. Human strength will not bear more of the work you have done to-day … indeed, all these days!” But Rockhurst’s eyes having fallen upon Chitterley, he beckoned him to his side before lifting the wine to his lips. Full of secret importance, the old servant hurried to him. Harry drew back. In many ways he felt as if his father still treated him like a child; in none more than these secret interviews with Chitterley. The Lord Constable seemed to make his servant sole confidant and instrument in the matter of some urgent and troublous private business; one which necessitated frequent absences on both sides. The secrecy pained the young man, but he bore the slight in silence; he had not been brought up to question the parental actions. * * * * * “Didst go where I bade thee?” whispered Rockhurst. “Aye, my lord.” “No news?” “No news, no news!”