“I am well—I am restored. You have made a man of me.”
CHAPTER XXIV.
“Blythewood,” said Mr. Tuke, “’twould be a rare thing could we light on this bogle-gem—succeed where a whole troop of cut-throats had failed—and bribe Luvaine to sanity thereby. But, I confess, it strikes me hard that I am to serve meanwhile as whipping-boy to his rueful worship; to know him warm in his blankets, while the vermin overrun my estate o’ cold nights for a treasure he hath lost.”
“’Tis the fortune of battle, Tuke, and like cryin’ ‘God bless his Majesty!’ for the favour of a bayonet-thrust under king’s button.”
“Yes, but I seek no glory.”
“But you seek a jewel that could serve you with an army of it. And, consider, the wound will go on sloughin’ while the bullet is in. We must get to work to-morrow, by your leave; portion ‘Delsrop’ into squares, like a chess-board, and hunt it over foot by foot.”
“’Tis the only way.”
The two were riding in company, whereby it will be seen that not only was the breach between them healed, but that the older man had taken the younger into his further confidence.
This was all as it should be. The quarrel had been a paltry one; and once convinced of his wrong-headedness, the lord of Wastelands, like the gracious gentleman he was, had not hesitated to offer a handsome apology that was as courteously received. A few words, a jolly laugh or so over a bottle of Oporto, and the two were faster friends than they had been as yet.
Now, as fruit of close discussion, they were on their way to an interview with Mr. Breeds; and Dennis rode in their company, at a distance behind, like a feat squire of knight-errantry.