His voice broke a little.  There was a silence, then Colonel Dick swung around from the glass door.  “Don’t talk damned nonsense, Fair,” he said gruffly.

Major Edward spoke from the old green chair.  “We’ll bring no unnecessary factors into this business, Fairfax.  I don’t conceive that it is necessary for us to quarrel.  It is not you who have wrought the harm—­that burden rests elsewhere.  Have you seen Unity?”

“No, sir.”

“Then we had better send for her.”  The Major rose and pulled the bell-rope.  “Some one must go to Roselands.  When do you propose to act?”

“Very soon, sir.  Almost at once.  I anticipate no resistance and no flight.  I’ll give him his due.  He is bold and he is ready, and the court room is his chosen field, where his gods fight for him.  He’ll give battle.”

The last of the Greenwood Carys moved from his place, walked to the window, and stood there in the light from the north.  “Before Unity comes, sir, there is something I would like to say.  It pertains to myself.  You have known me, both of you, all my life, and you knew my father before me.  You know what my brother was to me—­brother, guardian, friend.  You two have lived your life together; think, each of you, how bitter now would be the other’s loss.  What if all was yet youth and fire and promise—­and a villain struck one down, put out life at a blow, and denied the deed!  Denied! went on with trumpets to place and honour!  What would you do, Colonel Churchill, or you, Major Edward?  You would do as I have done, and you would weigh no circumstance, as I have weighed none.  Moreover, right is right, and law and justice must not curtsy even to pity for the innocent and tenderness for those who suffer!  It is right that this man should feel the hand of Justice.  And I can see it as no other than right that I—­when all her paid soldiers failed—­should have taken it on myself to bring him there, before her bar.  It is this which I shall do, and the end is not with me, but with right and law and order, with the weal of society, yes, and with the man’s own proper reaping of the harvest which he sowed!  Else he also is monstrous, and there is nothing not awry.”  He paused, made a slight and dignified gesture with his hands, and went on.  “I have done that which I had to do.  I abide the consequences.  But it is hard to bring trouble on you here, and to bring great trouble on—­on one other.  I wish you to know that, though I go my way, I go with a pained and heavy heart.”

He broke off, and stood with his eyes upon the younger of the two brothers; then, after a moment and with a note of appeal in his voice, “Major Edward—­”

Major Edward raised his hawk eyes and resolute face.  “Trouble enough, yes, heavy trouble—­but I should have done as you have done!  It is all in the great battle, Fair.  We’ll be friends still, Fontenoy and Greenwood.  There is Unity at the door.”

* * * * *