Aron rose hastily to his feet, and began some apology.
"Mr. Ashlock," he said, "requested me——" But I cut him short, weary for one honest word of truth.
"That will do, Aron. I have no wish to disturb you;" and I threw myself on to a couch which was ranged against the wall. "I am very tired," said I, and lay with my eyes closed.
Aron's pen stopped scratching. He sat for a second without moving. Then he came over to the couch, and, or ever I was aware of it, began pulling off my boots.
I opened my eyes and started up. In his old, worn face there was a look of friendliness which at that moment cheered me inexpressibly.
"Nay," said I, "you are too old a servant, Aron, to offer help of that kind, and I too young a master to accept it. Let it be!"
He straightened his back, and the friendliness increased upon his face. He glanced quickly about the room, and stepped softly to my side.
"Master Lawrence," he began, in much the tone a nurse may use to a child, and then, "sir, I mean, I beg your pardon." In a trice he was the formal, precise servant again.
"Nay," said I, "I know not but what I like the first title the better."
"It was a liberty," said he, with his face grown rigid.