She was more or less annoyed with everybody - with Sir Terence and Tremayne for their assiduity to duty, and with Sylvia for postponing all thought of dressing until this eleventh hour, when she might have been better employed in beguiling her ladyship's loneliness.
In this petulant mood, Lady O'Moy crossed the quadrangle, loitered a moment by the table and chairs placed under the trellis, and considered sitting there to await the others. Finally, however, attracted by the glory of the sunset behind the hills towards Abrantes, she sauntered out on to the terrace, to the intense thankfulness of a poor wretch who had waited there for the past ten hours in the almost despairing hope that precisely such a thing might happen.
She was leaning upon the balustrade when a rustle in the pines below drew her attention. The rustle worked swiftly upwards and round to the bushes on her right, and her eyes, faintly startled, followed its career, what time she stood tense and vaguely frightened.
Then the bushes parted and a limping figure that leaned heavily upon a stick disclosed itself; a shaggy, red-bearded man in the garb of a peasant; and marvel of marvels! - this figure spoke her name sharply, warningly almost, before she had time to think of screaming.
"Una! Una! Don't move!"
The voice was certainly the voice of Mr. Butler. But how came that voice into the body of this peasant? Terrified, with drumming pulses, yet obedient to the injunction, she remained without speech or movement, whilst crouching so as to keep below the level of the balustrade the man crept forward until he was immediately before and below her.
She stared into that haggard face, and through the half-mask of stubbly beard gradually made out the features of her brother.
"Richard!" The name broke from her in a scream.
"'Sh!" He waved his hands in wild alarm to repress her. "For God's sake, be quiet! It's a ruined man I am they find me here. You'll have heard what's happened to me?"
She nodded, and uttered a half-strangled "Yes."
"Is there anywhere you can hide me? Can you get me into the house without being seen? I am almost starving, and my leg is on fire. I was wounded three days ago to make matters worse than they were already. I have been lying in the woods there watching for the chance to find you alone since sunrise this morning, and it's devil a bite or sup I've had since this time yesterday."
"Poor, poor Richard!" She leaned down towards him in an attitude of compassionate, ministering grace. "But why? Why did you not come up to the house and ask for me? No one would have recognised you."
"Terence would if he had seen me."
"But Terence wouldn't have mattered. Terence will help you."
"Terence!" He almost laughed from excess of bitterness, labouring under an egotistical sense of wrong. "He's the last man I should wish to meet, as I have good reason to know. If it hadn't been for that I should have come to you a month ago - immediately after this trouble of mine. As it is, I kept away until despair left me no other choice. Una, on no account a word of my presence to Terence."
"But . . . he's my husband!"
"Sure, and he's also adjutant-general, and if I know him at all he's the very man to place official duty and honour and all the rest of it above family considerations."
"Oh, Richard, how little you know Terence! How wrong you are to misjudge him like this!"
"Right or wrong, I'd prefer not to take the risk. It might end in my being shot one fine morning before long."
" Richard!"
"For God's sake, less of your Richard! It's all the world will be hearing you. Can you hide me, do you think, for a day or two? If you can't, I'll be after shifting for myself as best I can. I've been playing the part of an English overseer from Bearsley's wine farm, and it has brought me all the way from the Douro in safety.
But the strain of it and the eternal fear of discovery are beginning to break me. And now there's this infernal wound. I was assaulted by a footpad near Abrantes, as if I was worth robbing. Anyhow I gave the fellow more than I took. Unless I have rest I think I shall go mad and give myself up to the provost-marshal to be shot and done with."
"Why do you talk of being shot? You have done nothing to deserve that. Why should you fear it?"
Now Mr. Butler was aware - having gathered the information lately on his travels - of the undertaking given by the British to the Council of Regency with regard to himself. But irresponsible egotist though he might be, yet in common with others he was actuated by the desire which his sister's fragile loveliness inspired in every one to spare her unnecessary pain or anxiety.
