Feversham, at all events, would now have dropped the feathers
then and there and crushed them into the dust of the path with his heel;
they had done their work. They could no longer reproach, they were no
longer needed to encourage, they were dead things. Ethne, however, held
them tight in her hand; to her they were not dead.
"Colonel Trench was here a fortnight ago," she said. "He told me you
were bringing it back to me."
"But he did not know of the fourth feather," said Feversham. "I never
told any man that I had it."
"Yes. You told Colonel Trench on your first night in the House of Stone
at Omdurman. He told me. I no longer hate him," she added, but without a
smile and quite seriously, as though it was an important statement which
needed careful recognition.
"I am glad of that," said Feversham. "He is a great friend of mine."
Ethne was silent for a moment or two. Then she said:--
"I wonder whether you have forgotten our drive from Ramelton to our
house when I came to fetch you from the quay? We were alone in the
dog-cart, and we spoke--"
"Of the friends whom one knows for friends the first moment, and whom
one seems to recognise even though one has never seen them before,"
interrupted Feversham.
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