CHAPTER XXVIIEPILOGUEJAMESLOGIEstood at the window of a house in a Dutch town. The pollarded beech, whose boughs were trimmed in a close screen before the walls, had shed its golden leaves and the canal waters were grey under a cloudy sky. The long room was rather dark, and was growing darker. By the chair that he had left lay a yellow cur.He had been standing for some minutes reading a letter by the fading light, and his back was towards the man who had brought it. The latter stood watching him, stiff and tall, an object of suspicion to the dog.As he came to the end, the hand that held the paper went down to James’s side. The silence in the room was unbroken for a space. When he turned, Callandar saw his powerful shoulders against the dusk and the jealous shadows of the beech-tree’s mutilated arms.“I can never thank you enough for bringing me this,” said Logie. “My debt to you is immeasurable.”“I did it for him—not for you.”Callandar spoke coldly, almost with antagonism.“I can understand that,” said James.But something in his voice struck the other. Though he had moved as if to leave him, he stopped, and going over to the window, drew a playing-card from a pocket in his long coat.“Look,” he said, holding out the ace scrawled with the picture of the sentry.James took it, and as he looked at it, his crooked lip was set stiffly, lest it should tremble.“It was in his tent when I went back there—afterwards,” said Callandar.He took the card back, and put it in his pocket.“Then it was you——” began James.“He was my prisoner, sir.”James walked away again and stood at the window.Callandar waited, silent.“I must wish you a good-day, Captain Logie,” he said at last, “I have to leave Holland to-night.”James followed him down the staircase, and they parted at the outer door. Callandar went away along the street, and James came back slowly up the steep stairs, his hand on the railing of the carved banisters. He could scarcely see his way.The yellow dog came to meet him when he entered his room, and as his master, still holding the letter, carried it again to the light, he followed. Half-way across the floor he turned to sniff at an old Kilmarnock bonnet that lay by the wainscot near the corner in which he slept.He put his nose against it, and then looked at Logie. Trust was in his eyes and affection; but there was inquiry, too.“My poor lad,” said James, “we both remember.”THE ENDBILLING AND SONS, LTD., PRINTERS, GUILDFORD
JAMESLOGIEstood at the window of a house in a Dutch town. The pollarded beech, whose boughs were trimmed in a close screen before the walls, had shed its golden leaves and the canal waters were grey under a cloudy sky. The long room was rather dark, and was growing darker. By the chair that he had left lay a yellow cur.
He had been standing for some minutes reading a letter by the fading light, and his back was towards the man who had brought it. The latter stood watching him, stiff and tall, an object of suspicion to the dog.
As he came to the end, the hand that held the paper went down to James’s side. The silence in the room was unbroken for a space. When he turned, Callandar saw his powerful shoulders against the dusk and the jealous shadows of the beech-tree’s mutilated arms.
“I can never thank you enough for bringing me this,” said Logie. “My debt to you is immeasurable.”
“I did it for him—not for you.”
Callandar spoke coldly, almost with antagonism.
“I can understand that,” said James.
But something in his voice struck the other. Though he had moved as if to leave him, he stopped, and going over to the window, drew a playing-card from a pocket in his long coat.
“Look,” he said, holding out the ace scrawled with the picture of the sentry.
James took it, and as he looked at it, his crooked lip was set stiffly, lest it should tremble.
“It was in his tent when I went back there—afterwards,” said Callandar.
He took the card back, and put it in his pocket.
“Then it was you——” began James.
“He was my prisoner, sir.”
James walked away again and stood at the window.
Callandar waited, silent.
“I must wish you a good-day, Captain Logie,” he said at last, “I have to leave Holland to-night.”
James followed him down the staircase, and they parted at the outer door. Callandar went away along the street, and James came back slowly up the steep stairs, his hand on the railing of the carved banisters. He could scarcely see his way.
The yellow dog came to meet him when he entered his room, and as his master, still holding the letter, carried it again to the light, he followed. Half-way across the floor he turned to sniff at an old Kilmarnock bonnet that lay by the wainscot near the corner in which he slept.
He put his nose against it, and then looked at Logie. Trust was in his eyes and affection; but there was inquiry, too.
“My poor lad,” said James, “we both remember.”
THE END
BILLING AND SONS, LTD., PRINTERS, GUILDFORD