It
isn't good enough, Miles."
"Then let's be thankful it's going to stop," Furley declared.
"We've pinned our colours to the mast, Julian. I don't like Fenn
any more than you do, nor do I trust him, but I can't see, in this
instance, that he has anything to gain by not running straight.
Besides, he can't have faked the terms, and that's the only
document that counts. And so good night and to bed," he added,
pausing at the street corner, where they parted.
There was something curiously different about the demeanour of
Julian's trusted servant, as he took his master's coat and hat.
Even Julian, engrossed as he was in the happenings of the evening,
could scarcely fail to notice it.
"You seem out of sorts to-night, Robert!" he remarked.
The latter, whose manners were usually suave and excellent,
answered almost harshly.
"I have enough to make me so, sir--more than enough. I wish to
give a week's notice."
"Been drinking, Robert?" his master enquired.
The man smiled mirthlessly.
"I am quite sober, sir," he answered, "but I should be glad to go
at once. It would be better for both of us."
"What have you against me?" Julian asked, puzzled.
"The lives of my two boys," was the fierce reply. "Fred's gone
now--died in hospital last night. It was you who talked them
into soldiering."
Julian's manner changed at once, and his tone became kinder.
"You are very foolish to blame anybody, Robert. Your sons did
their duty. If they hadn't joined up when they did, they would
have had to join as conscripts later on.
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