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Doyle, Arthur Conan, Sir, 1859-1930

"Sir Nigel"

"
"It is true, sir," cried Nigel eagerly. "It was only this very
evening as we rode over Thursley Moor that Mistress Edith told me
that she counted him not a fly, and that she would be glad if he
were beaten for his evil deeds."
But the wise priest shook his silvery locks. "Nay, there is ever
danger when a woman speaks like that. Hot hate is twin brother to
hot love. Why should she speak so if there were not some bond
between them?"
"And yet," said Nigel, "what can have changed her thoughts in three
short hours? She was here in the hall with us since I came. By
Saint Paul, I will not believe it!"
Mary's face darkened. "I call to mind," said she, "that a note
was brought her by Hannekin the stable varlet when you were
talking to us, fair sir, of the terms of the chase. She read it
and went forth."
Sir John sprang to his feet, but sank into his chair again with a
groan. "Would that I were dead," he cried, "ere I saw dishonor
come upon my house, and am so tied with this accursed foot that I
can neither examine if it be true, nor yet avenge it! If my son
Oliver were here, then all would be well. Send me this stable
varlet that I may question him."
"I pray you, fair and honored sir," said Nigel, "that you will
take me for your son this night, that I may handle this matter in
the way which seems best. On jeopardy of my honor I will do all
that a man may.


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