have taken pride in presenting as his offspring.

They had a fair wind, and towards evening Cynthia, who had been
absent from his side a little while, came to tell him that the
coast of France grew nigh.

His answer was a sigh, and when she chid him for it, he essayed
a smile that was yet more melancholy. For a second he was
tempted to confide in her; to tell her of the position in which
he found himself and to lighten his load by sharing it with
her. But this he dared not do. Cynthia must never know.




CHAPTER XXVII

THE AUBERGE DU SOLEIL


In a room of the first floor of the Auberge du Soleil, at
Calais, the host inquired of Crispin if he were milord
Galliard. At that question Crispin caught his breath in
apprehension, and felt himself turn pale. What it portended,
he guessed; and it stifled the hope that had been rising in him
since his arrival, and because he had not found his son
awaiting him either on the jetty or at the inn. He dared ask
no questions, fearing that the reply would quench that hope,
which rose despite himself, and begotten of a desire of which
he was hardly conscious.