Page 486 - for-the-term-of-his-natural-life

‘I’ll tell her,’ said Blunt, wiping his brow. ‘I’m sure she
wouldn’t go to sell you. But I’ll look in when I come back,
sir.’ When he got outside he drew a long breath. ‘By the Lord
Harry, but it’s a ticklish game to play,’ he said to himself,
with a lively recollection of the dreaded Frere’s vehemence;
‘and there’s only one woman in the world I’d be fool enough
to play it for.’
Maurice Frere, oppressed with suspicions, ordered his
horse that afternoon, and rode down to see the cottage
which the owner of ‘Purfoy Stores’ had purchased. He found
it a low white building, situated four miles from the city, at
the extreme end of a tongue of land which ran into the deep
waters of the harbour. A garden carefully cultivated, stood
between the roadway and the house, and in this garden he
saw a man digging.
‘Does Mrs. Purfoy live here?’ he asked, pushing open one
of the iron gates.
The man replied in the affirmative, staring at the visitor
with some suspicion.
‘Is she at home?’
‘No.’
‘You are sure?’
‘If you don’t believe me, ask at the house,’ was the reply,
given in the uncourteous tone of a free man.
Frere pushed his horse through the gate, and walked up
the broad and well-kept carriage drive. A man-servant in
livery, answering his ring, told him that Mrs. Purfoy had
gone to town, and then shut the door in his face. Frere, more
astonished than ever at these outward and visible signs of