Janet made the old soldier come in and sit down in the hall while she took his message to Lady Pollexfen. Her ladyship was not yet up, but was taking her chocolate in bed, with a faded Indian shawl thrown round her shoulders. She began to tremble violently the moment Janet delivered the old soldier's message, and could scarcely set down her cup and saucer. Then she began to cry, and to kiss the hem of the Indian shawl. Janet went softly out of the room and waited. She had never even heard of this Captain Charles Pollexfen, and yet no mere empty name could have thus affected the stern mistress of Dupley Walls. Those few tears opened up quite a new view of Lady Pollexfen's character. Janet began to see that there might be elements of tragedy in the old woman's life of which she knew nothing: that many of the moods which seemed to her so strange and inexplicable might be so merely for want of the key by which alone they could be rightly read. Presently her ladyship's gong sounded. Janet went back into the room, and found her still sitting up in bed, sipping her chocolate with a steady hand. All traces of tears had vanished: she looked even more stern and repressed than usual. "Request the person of whom you spoke to me a while ago to wait," she said. "I will see him at eleven in my private sitting-room." So Sergeant Nicholas was sent to get his breakfast in the servants' room, and wait till Lady Pollexfen was ready to receive him. At eleven precisely he was summoned to her ladyship's presence. She received him with stately graciousness, and waved him to a chair a yard or two away. She was dressed for the day in one of her stiff brocaded silks, and sat as upright as a dart, manipulating a small fan. Miss Holme stood close at the back of her chair. "So, my good man, I understand that you were acquainted with my son, the late Captain Pollexfen, who died in India twenty years ago?" "I was his body-servant for two years previous to his death." "Were you with him when he died?" "I was, your ladyship. These fingers closed his eyes." The hand that held the fan began to tremble again. She remained silent for a few moments, and by a strong effort overmastered her agitation. "You have some communication which you wish to make to me respecting my dead son?" "I have, your ladyship. A communication of a very singular kind." "Why has it not been made before now?" "That your ladyship will learn in the course of what I have to say. But perhaps you will kindly allow me to tell my story my own way." "By all means. Pray begin: I am all attention." The sergeant touched his forelock, gave a preliminary cough, fixed his clear grey eye on Lady Pollexfen, and began his narrative as under:--