In Clives Command | Page 7

Says Governor Pitt, Fort George, Madras: "I know what
you are--"
Again the song broke off; the singer addressed a question to Grinsell.
Desmond waited a moment; he felt an odd eagerness to know what
Governor Pitt was; but hearing now only the drone of talking, he once
more turned his face homeward. His curiosity was livelier than ever as
to the identity of this newcomer, who addressed the landlord as he

might his own familiar friend.
And what had the stranger to do with Sir Willoughby Stokes? For it
was Sir Willoughby that suffered from the gout; he it was that went
every autumn and spring to Buxton; he was away at this present time,
but would shortly return to receive his Michaelmas rents. The stranger
had not the air of a husbandman; but there was a vacant farm on the
estate; perhaps he had come to offer himself as a tenant.
And why did he wear that half glove upon his right hand? Finger stalls,
wrist straps, even mittens were common enough, useful, and necessary
at times; but the stranger's glove was not a mitten, and it had no fellow
for the left hand. Perhaps, thought Desmond, it was a freak of the
wearer's, on a par with his red feather and his vivid neckcloth.
Desmond, as he walked on, found himself hoping that the visitor at the
Four Alls would remain for a day or two.
After passing through the sleeping hamlet of Woods Eaves, he struck
into a road on his left hand. Twenty minutes' steady plodding uphill
brought him in sight of his home--a large, ancient, rambling grange
house lying back from the road. It was now nearly ten o'clock, an hour
when the household was usually abed; but the door of Wilcote Grange
stood open, and a guarded candle in the hall threw a faint yellow light
upon the path. The gravel crunched under Desmond's boots, and, as if
summoned by the sound, a tall figure crossed the hall and stood in the
entrance. At the sight Desmond's mouth set hard; his hands clenched;
his breath came more quickly as he went forward.
"Where have you been, sirrah?" were the angry words that greeted him.
"Into the town, sir," returned Desmond.
He had perforce to halt, the doorway being barred by the man's broad
form.
"Into the town? You defy me, do you? Did I not bid you remain at
home and make up the stock book?"

"I did that before I left."
"You did, did you? I lay my life 'tis ill done. What did you in the town
this time o' night?"
"I went to see General Clive."
"Indeed! You! Hang me, what's Clive to you? Was you invited to the
regale? You was one of that stinking crowd, I suppose, that bawled in
the street. You go and herd with knaves and yokels, do you? and bring
shame upon me, and set the countryside a-chattering of Richard Burke
and his idle young oaf of a brother! By gad, sir, I'll whip you for this;
I'll give you something to remember General Clive by!"
He caught up a riding whip that stood in the angle of the doorway, and
took Desmond by the shoulder. The boy did not flinch.
"Whip me if you must," he said quietly, "but don't you think we'd better
go outside?"
The elder, with an imprecation, thrust Desmond into the open, hauled
him some distance down the path, and then beat him heavily about the
shoulders. He stood a foot higher, his arm was strong, his grip firm as a
vise; resistance would have been vain; but Desmond knew better than
to resist. He bent to the cruel blows without a wince or a murmur. Only,
his face was very pale when, the bully's arm being tired and his breath
spent, he was flung away and permitted to stagger to the house. He
crawled painfully up the wainscoted staircase and into the dark corridor
leading to his bedroom. Halfway down this he paused, felt with his
hand along the wall, and, discovering by this means that a door was
ajar, stood listening.
"Is that you, Desmond?" said a low voice within.
"Yes, mother," he replied, commanding his voice, and quietly entering.
"I hoped you were asleep."
"I could not sleep until you came in, dear. I heard Dick's voice. What is

the matter? Your hand is trembling, Desmond."
"Nothing, mother, as usual."
A mother's ears are quick; and Mrs. Burke detected the quiver that
Desmond tried to still. She tightened her clasp on his hot hand.
"Did he strike you, dear?"
"It was nothing, mother. I am used to that."
"My poor boy! But what angered him? Why do you offend your
brother?"
"Offend him!" exclaimed the boy passionately, but still