One call on Chauvelin's part might bring twenty
men about Blakeney's ears for aught he knew, and he might be caught
and trapped before he could help, or, at least, warn the fugitives.
This he would not risk; he meant to help the others, to get THEM
safely away; for he had pledged his word to them, and his word he
WOULD keep. And whilst he ate and chatted, he thought and planned,
whilst, up in the loft, the poor, anxious woman racked her brain as to
what she should do, and endured agonies of longing to rush down to
him, yet not daring to move for fear of upsetting his plans.
"I didn't know," Blakeney was saying jovially, "that you. . .
er. . .were in holy orders."
"I. . .er. . .hem. . ." stammered Chauvelin. The calm impudence
of his antagonist had evidently thrown him off his usual balance.
"But, la! I should have known you anywhere," continued Sir
Percy, placidly, as he poured himself out another glass of wine,
"although the wig and hat have changed you a bit."
"Do you think so?"
"Lud! they alter a man so. . .but. . .begad! I hope you
don't mind my having made the remark?. . .Demmed bad form making
remarks.
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