This evening something had happened. He did not know what, but some look, some word from Rachel-he whispered her Christian name like a prayer-had caused the vague, weak hope in his heart to blossom forth. He smiled to himself. All was not lost. His own sins and those of his father could be expurgated by hard work and a true heart. He would build an estate worthy of respect, he would make his stepmother and half brother comfortable. His seeing eye was bright in the gloom, but his thoughts were so far away, it was not until he was abreast of his gates that he saw the man lounging there in the shadows.
The figure stood and looked up at him. The face was tanned and dirty from the road, and Hugh could see the pack at his feet.
“Captain Thornleigh.”
The world trembled and swam. The smell of gunsmoke rose in Hugh’s nostrils. He felt suddenly sick.
“Wicksteed.”
“Glad to see you haven’t forgotten me yet, sir.”
Hugh’s hand trembled on the reins, causing his horse to step unhappily from side to side. He managed to clear his throat enough to speak again.
“So this is how it begins?”
Claver spat on the dust in front of him and straightened up with a smile.
“After a manner of speaking, sir, I suppose so. Yes. This is how it begins.”