“Three! humph!” ejaculated Turner again.
“And others for the luggage,” persisted the young man, more decidedly.
Turner bowed stiffly. He understood this change in his master’s tone, and did not like to brave him beyond a certain point. After a moment Clare spoke again.
“You have the clothes that the boy William left, I suppose?” he said, but without looking his old serving man in the face as usual.
“Yes, I have them, my lord.”
“Very well—leave them out—they will be wanted. I take a new page with me from hence.”
Turner did not speak now, but his features fell, and with a grave air, perfectly respectful, but full of rebuke, he stood looking at his young master.
“Have you a wish to discharge old Turner?” said the servant, at length, choking back the emotions that seemed forcing the words from his throat.
“Discharge you, Turner; why, you wouldn’t go if I did,” cried the young lord, forcing a laugh.
“Humph!” groaned the old man; “perhaps it will be vice versa—who knows?”