Leslie's Loyalties

Yorke's brow darkened, and he bit his lip. "Rather a rum idea, old chap, isn't it?" he said, with an uneasy laugh. "Call it so if you like," the duke responded, with, if possible, increased eagerness. "Are you going to refuse me, Yorke? By Heaven!" his thin face flushed, "it is the first, the only thing I have ever asked of you..." "Hold on!" Yorke interrupted, almost sternly. "I did not say I would refuse; you know that I cannot. You have been the best friend..." The duke raised his hand. "I knew you would not. Ring the bell, will you?" His voice, his hand, as he pointed to the bell, trembled. Yorke strode across the room and rang the bell. Grey entered. "Grey," the duke said, in a low voice, "how come this woman to know my name?" "It was a mistake, your grace," Grey said, troubled and remorseful. "I let it slip when I was wiring, and the idiot at the telegraph station in London must have wired it down to the people on his own account. But...but, your grace, she doesn't know much after all, for she didn't know which is the duke, as she calls it, beggin' your pardon, your grace." The duke nodded, clasping his hands impatiently and eagerly. "Ring the bell. Stand aside, and say nothing," he said, in a tone of stern command which he seldom used. The landlady, who, like Hamlet, was fat and scant of breath, was heard panting up the stairs, knocked timidly, and, in response to the duke's "Come in," entered, and looked from one to the other, in a fearsome, curious fashion. "Did you ring?" She would not venture to say "Your grace" this time. The duke smiled at her. "Yes," he said, gravely but pleasantly. "His Grace the Duke of Rothbury will stay with me for a few days if you can give him a room, Mrs.—Mrs.——." "Whiting, sir, if you please. Oh, certainly, sir," and she dropped a courtesy to Yorke Auchester. "Certainly your grace. It's humble and homely like, but..." Grey edged her gently and persuasively out of the room, and when he had followed her the duke leaned back his chair, and looking up at the handsome face of his cousin, laughed. "It's like a scene in one of the new farces, isn't it, Yorke...I beg your pardon, Godolphin, Duke of Rothbury?" Farce? Yes. But at that moment began the tragedy of Leslie Lisle's life.