"You won't turn giddy, and fall off your horse?"
"I don't think so."
"Talk about the halt leading the blind!" murmured Clyffurde as he stretched himself out once more upon the soft ground, whilst Maurice contrived to hoist himself up into the saddle. "Are you safe now?" he added as the young man collected the reins in his hand, and planted his feet firmly into the stirrups.
"Yes! I am safe enough," replied St. Genis. "It is only my head that aches: and Brussels is not far."
Then he paused a moment ere he started to go—with lips set tight and looking down on Bobby, whose pale face had taken on an ashen hue:
"How you must despise me," he said bitterly.
But Bobby made no reply: he was just longing to be left alone, whilst the other still seemed inclined to linger.
"Would to God," Maurice said with a sigh, "that M. le Comte heard the evil news from other lips than mine."
"Evil news?" And Bobby, whom semi-consciousness was already taking off once more to the land of visions and of dreams—was brought back to reality—as if with a sudden jerk—with those two preposterous little words.
"What evil news?" he asked.