"Lalante, child--hush--hush!" he said a little unsteadily, his clasp of her tightening. "You must not start by making a G.o.d of me, or what will happen when the disillusionment comes?"

"Disillusionment? Oh!"

"Yes. You may laugh now, but--never mind. Well then, what about yourself? Who was it who threw away--what I see"--holding her from him, to gaze at her with intense admiration and love--"upon a battered old addlepate--"

"Battered old addlepate? That's good," she interrupted.

"Yes. A battered old addlepate--for if I've captured some luck at last it is sheer luck--who seemed congenitally incapable of ever turning anything to account and who was going from bad to worse as fast as any such fool could! Who was it that lightened and cheered as dark a time as could fall to the lot of most men, and, above all, clung to him when all seemed hopeless; and who was prepared to sacrifice the best years of her bright youth--Good G.o.d, I think it is I who have to say that such happiness seems impossible."

Le Sage's welcome of Wyvern was quiet but cordial, while that accorded him by the two youngsters was boisterous in its delight.

"Man--Mr Wyvern, but you'll have some stunning new yarns to tell us,"

said Charlie.

"A few, Charlie. And the rum part of it is they'll be true."

"I'd jolly well punch any fellow's head who said they weren't," rejoined Frank. "That is, if I could," he added.

At the close of what was certainly the very happiest day in the lives of at any rate two of that quintett, Le Sage said:

"Would you mind coming into my den, Wyvern? I want your advice on a little matter of business. You're not in a hurry to turn in are you?

It may take some time."

Wyvern stared. For keen, hard-headed Le Sage to want his advice--_his_--on a matter of business naturally struck him as quaint.

But he replied that of course nothing would give him greater pleasure.

"All right. Well take the grog in and smoke a final pipe or two over our _indaba_. Come along."

He led the way round to the little room which he used as a private office. It was entered from outside, and being detached from the house was out of earshot of the other inmates.

"First of all," he began when they were seated, "I want to apologise for what I said that day when--"

"Oh, shut up, Le Sage," interrupted Wyvern, bringing his hand hard down into that of the other, and enclosing it in a firm grip. "I don't want to hear another word about that, just as I've never given it another thought--not a resentful one at any rate. I can quite see the matter from your point of view--could at the time in fact. Now then, what's this business matter you want to talk over? Is it about Lalante?"

"No. It's about myself."

Wyvern had already noticed an alteration in Le Sage's manner and also appearance. The old touch of confident a.s.sertiveness seemed to have gone, moreover he looked older and greyer. Now he seemed to look more so still.

"About yourself?" repeated Wyvern, with visions of weak heart or latent disease in the speaker, rising before him.

"Yes. Would it surprise you to hear that I'm practically a ruined man?"

"I should think it would. Good G.o.d, Le Sage, you can't really mean it!"

"I wish I didn't, but it's a fact. It's of no use bothering you with details, Wyvern, for I've heard you say one couldn't shoot a man with a worse head for business than yourself even if you fired a shot-gun up and down the most crowded streets of London all day. Of course saying I wanted your advice was only a blind," he added with a wan smile.

"But, briefly, how did it happen?"

"Rotten specs, and overdoing that. But the main thing is, Wyvern, and it's due to you to explain--that in all probability Lalante will never have a shilling--at least, not from me."

"I don't care if she hasn't half a farthing, as you know perfectly well, Le Sage," was the decisive answer. "And now, look here. I haven't any definite notion what that stuff I was telling you about this afternoon will realise; but I'm pretty sure it'll be something very considerable indeed for each of us. We shall have to go to work about it rather cautiously though."

"Yes, you will. By Jove, Wyvern, I believe you are developing a business instinct after all."

"Well what I was going to say is this. Hold on as well as you can until it does realise, and then any capital you may require to set you on your legs again, and clear off liabilities with, I shall take it as a favour if you would let me advance. I am just as certain of getting it all back again as if I stuck it into the Bank of England, and even if I wasn't what the devil does it matter? We shall be near relations directly."

The other was looking curiously at him.

"By the Lord, Wyvern, but you are a deuced good chap; in fact a very exceptional one. If you only knew all, now! Why most men would have gladly seen me to the devil under the circ.u.mstances."

"Most men must be very exceptional cads then," laughed Wyvern, tilting back his chair, and lighting a pipe. "And as for knowing everything I know all I want to know--no, by the bye--there's one thing I do want to know. Who bought Seven Kloofs? I'm going to buy it back again."

"The deuce you are! Then let me frankly advise you not to. It's the most rotten investment I ever made."

"Oh, so you took it on, then? Why you weren't keeping up your reputation that shot, Le Sage."

"No. You shall know some more though, now. I bought it with the sole object of getting you out of this part of the country. How's that?"

Wyvern threw back his head, and roared.

"How's that?" he said. "Why you bit off more than you could chew-- darned sight more, old chap. Still I'm going to have it back again, not as a stock run but as a game preserve. I'm no good at farming I know, but I'm fond of this part of the country and the climate. So we shall squat down at Seven Kloofs--I think I shall take to writing books, or some such foolishness--and all be as jolly together as it's possible to be. How's _that_?"

"Oh, good enough," said the other in a relieved tone. "You won't take the child right away from me then?"

"Rather not I must take her away for a short time though, Le Sage. I must go to England almost directly with Fleetwood to see about realising our plunder, and I can't leave Lalante behind. What do you say?"

There was only one thing to be said under the circ.u.mstances, and Le Sage, being a sensible man, said it. Afterwards the two men sat talking matters over till far into the night, even into the small hours.

CHAPTER THIRTY ONE.

ENVOI.

A tiny sea-side village, red roofs and grey church tower nestling between the slope of great hills clothed with velvety green woods, and the uplands beyond brilliant with yellow gorse and crimson heather. And the triangle of sunlit sea just glimpsed, is blue as the sky above.

Up the single street two persons are walking, and the summer loveliness of the fair English scene is something of a contrast to the vaster, but not less beautiful, landscape in which we last saw these two framed; for we have seen them before.

Now they gain the modest, but clean and comfortable farm-house lodgings overlooking the village and the sea, and which is nearly the only accommodation so out-of-the-way a place can offer.

"Post in," says Lalante, womanlike eagerly making for several letters spread out upon the table. "Why here's one from father, forwarded on.

Oh I am glad. He hasn't written for quite a long time."

"Getting homesick, child?"

"Darling, you know I'm not. Still I shan't be sorry to be duly installed at dear old Seven Kloofs."