She was right enough, it was her husband, who upon arriving at the front gate called lustily out for Joe, the same Joe who had been so intimately connected with the discovery of the murderer of Philip Jamblin. He was still retained on the establishment.
His master gave him injunctions to rub the mare down well.
“I’d no business to put her out to such a pace, especially as there’s a bit of a hill. However, she’ll be none the worse for it if she’s well looked after. A horse should always go cool into the stable—rub her down. I’m desperately behind to-day, there’s no doubt about that, but she went along bravely though, and is as good as gold to any man.”
“She’ll be all right,” said Joe. “I’ll see to that; don’t you concern yourself about her.”
“Dear me, you have been a time,” cried Patty. I thought you would never come back; but here you are—and that’s enough.”
She placed her hand upon his broad shoulder, and rising on tiptoe kissed him tenderly.
He took her in his arms and they kissed each other repeatedly. Oh, it is a pretty sight these meetings of husband and wife after the day’s work is done.
When they have been separated for a few hours they greet each other with the warmth which follows an absence of years.
They have carried each other’s photographs in their mind; having cherished the emblems all day long, they spring to each other’s arms with transports which the forethought has prepared.
What a contrast these two persons afford to the matrimonial life of Mr. and Mrs. Bourne—the one is unalloyed happiness, the other supreme misery.