Altogether, the local judge had made a favourable impression on him;
his attitude had been irreproachably correct. He was not a bat fellow,
for a freemason. One might do worse than leave him in possession of his
present appointment on Nepenthe.
The Deputy freed his prisoner; it was unavoidable. But the Russians
remained in gaol, and this was always something to the credit of Signor
Malipizzo. . . .
Madame Steynlin, on hearing of Peter the Great's arrest, was stricken
dumb. She wept the bitterest tears of all her life. Then, with
returning calmness, she remembered Mr. Keith whose friendship with the
magistrate was the common talk of the place. Would he be able to do
anything? Impulsive by nature, she called on that gentleman and poured
out her griefs to him. Mr. Keith was sympathetic. He declared he
understood perfectly. He promised to do his utmost, that very day.
The Master, meanwhile, languished in prison. He had nobody to take his
part, not even among the Little White Cows; the new section, that
clique of young extremists, were only too delighted to have him out of
the way.
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