... The feeling of _out
of it_ crept over him. It was an unfamiliar perception, impermanent.
Yet it might leave a trace to work in the under-consciousness, on a
far day to emerge, be revalued and added to.
This December air! Fire would be good--and with that thought he seemed
to catch a gleam through the small-paned, small window, and in a
moment through the opening door. He rose from the bench. A man in a
long cloak entered the room, behind him a soldier bearing a lantern
which he set upon a shelf above a litter of boards and kegs.
Dismissed by a gesture, he went out, shutting the door behind him.
The first man dropped his cloak, drew a heavy stool from the
thrust-aside lumber, and sat down beneath the lantern. He spoke:
"Of all our many meeting-places, this looks most like the old cave in
the glen!"
Ian moistened his lips. He resumed his seat against the wall. "I
wondered, after Prestonpans, if you went home."
"Did you?"
"No, you are right. I did not."
"At all times it is the liar's wont still to lie. Small things or
great--use or no use!"
"I am a prisoner and unarmed. You are the captor. To insult lies in
your power."
"That is a jargon that may be dropped between us. Yet I, too, am bound
by conventions! Seeing that you are a prisoner, and not my prisoner
only, I cannot give you your sword or pistols, and we cannot fight.
Pages:
196
197
198
199
200
201
202
203
204
205
206
207
208
209
210
211
212
213
214
215
216
217
218
219
220