SOPHY OF KRAVONIA
To-night I can think of nothing but Monseigneur. Mr. Williamson has extracted the bullet, but I'm afraid he's very bad. You won't take Mr. Williamson away until—until it's settled—one way or the other, will you?"
"Neither Basil nor I will leave so long as we can be of the least service to you," he told her.
With a sudden impulse she put her hands in his.
"It's strangely good to find you here to-night—so strange and so good! It gives me strength, and I want strength. Oh, my friends are brave men, but you—well, there's something in home and the same blood, I suppose."
Dunstanbury thought that there was certainly something in having two Englishmen about, instead of Kravonians only, but such a blunt sentiment might not be acceptable. He pressed her hands as he released them.
"I rejoice at the chance that brings us here. You can have every confidence in Basil. He's a first-rate man. But tell me about yourself. We have time now, haven't we?"
"Really, I suppose we have! Monseigneur has been put to sleep. But I couldn't sleep. Come, we'll go up on the wall."
They mounted on to the city wall, just by the gate, and leaned against the mouldering parapets. Below lay Lake Talti in the moonlight, and beyond it the masses of the mountains. Yet while Sophy talked, Dunstanbury's eyes seldom left her face; nay, once or twice he caught himself not listening, but only looking, tracing how she had grown from Sophy Grouch in her scullery to this. He had never forgotten the strange girl: once or twice he and Basil had talked of her; he had resented Lady Meg's
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