Capes was an exceptionally fair man of two or three-and-thirty, so ruddily blond that it was a mercy he had escaped light eyelashes, and with a minor but by no means contemptible reputation of his own. You tried bravely enough to hide your preference, to look at us all with the same eyes, to speak to us in the same tone. You have taken my dagger. There was little more here than a sideboard, a chest for the vestments, and a simple wooden chair. Why should I?” “At last,” he murmured, “at last I have found you. I would speak with you. .
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