Gilbert laughed heartily, but he hardly seemed satisfied with the explanation. “You're all of a tremble,” he said.
“Am I? Well, it's likely,—and my gownd all over mud; but there's one favor I want to ask o' you, and no common one, neither, namely, the loan of a horse for a week or so.”
“A horse?” Gilbert repeated.
“A horse. Not Roger, by no means; I couldn't ask that, and he don't know me, anyhow; but the least rough-pacin' o' them two, for I've got considerable ridin' over the country to do, and I wouldn't ask you, but it's a busy time o' year, and all folks isn't so friendly.”
“You shall have whatever you want, Betsy,” he said. “But you've heard nothing?”—
“Nothin' o' one sort or t'other. Make yourself easy, lad.”
Gilbert, however, had been haunted by new surmises in regard to Dr. Deane. Certain trifles had returned to his memory since the interview, and rather than be longer annoyed with them, he now opened his heart to Miss Lavender.
A curious expression came over her face. “You've got sharp eyes and ears Gilbert,” she said. “Now supposin' I wanted your horse o' purpose to clear up your doubts in a way to satisfy you, would you mind lettin' me have it?”
“Take even Roger!” he exclaimed.
“No, that bay'll do. Keep thinkin' that's what I'm after, and ask me no more questions.”