Chapter 27
Viscount Merivale sat alone in the hutch-like sentry-box; his handsome face was unduly grave, his brow care-worn and he bit at his carefully tended nails, which last was a thing in him quite phenomenal. All at once he clenched his fist and smote it softly on the table: "Damn him!" he muttered and sat scowling at his torn nails. "Ha, madam, it seems you are like to be the death o' me yet! ... O Woman! ... Howbeit, fight him I will!" Here, chancing to lift his frowning gaze, he saw the Sergeant approaching with a spade on his shoulder. "What, Zebedee!" he called. The Sergeant glanced round, wheeled and, halting before the arbour, stood at attention. "Ha, Zeb, good old Zeb, come your ways. Sit down, yes, yes, here beside me. I'm beset by devils, Zeb, devils damned of deepest blue, your
- Writer
