" "Sir Rowland is my brother," resumed Lady Trafford coldly. . Take my word for it, your troubles are over. It appeared from what he said that he had been captured when asleep,—that his liquor had been drugged,—otherwise, he would never have allowed himself to be taken alive. She said as much to him. The doctor would never betray him. And you have to thank her presence, hot-headed boy, that I do not chastise your insolence as it deserves. He's the only native I trust in these parts. The thought of you, wandering from pillar to post, believing yourself hunted—it tore my old heart to pieces! For I knew you. Do you indeed remember? The smell of decay and cheap methylated spirit!. You seemed, he thought, to have some grievance which you would not explain and which he thought must arise from a misunderstanding.
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