CHAPTER IX.
"THE WORLD IS SO CRUEL."
"There's a horse-fair at Kilmacredden on Saturday," said Lord Glengall. "I was thinking you might find time to come along with me and see what's to be picked up."
"It isn't time I'd be wanting," said Mr. Graydon, "and you know it isn't inclination."
"Very well, then, you'll come. We'll have to make an early start and give the mare her time over the mountain. Will four o'clock do?"
"For me, yes. Will you get up on Saturday morning and see that there's a cup of tea ready for me by four o'clock?"
This to Sylvia, who was demurely making tea at a side-table.
"You know I will. Next to being up all night I like to get up before daybreak."
Lord Glengall broke into a slow smile as he turned to look at the speaker. He sat astride a small chair, with his chin resting on the back. He still wore the frieze coat which he had on when he entered; and with his clean-shaven, melancholy face and deep-set eyes, he looked like nothing so much as a hard-pressed mountain farmer, just as Sylvia had described him. Yet the smile was one of great sweetness, and the mingled simplicity and shrewdness of the face were far from being unattractive.