“Yes, with a place like this,” he said, “one ought to be able to do anything. It’s splendid pasturage, well situated, any amount of water, in fact, everything. And now comes this confounded war to upset the whole coach—Hullo!”
The exclamation is one of surprise and alarm as he turns round. His companion is standing rigid and motionless. Every particle of blood has fled from his face, leaving the sun-browned cheeks sallow and livid. His eyes are fixed and dilated, and one hand nervously grips the rail of the bridge against which he is leaning.
“Man alive—what’s up?” cried Payne, anxiously. “You look as if you had seen a ghost.”
“Nothing—nothing at all,” replied the other, with a faint smile. “I’m all right again now; don’t make a fuss, it’s nothing. I think it’s a remnant of that infernal up-country fever which I can’t thoroughly shake off. It left me as weak as a rat, and even yet I feel the effects now and then, as you see,” and again he made a ghastly attempt at a laugh.
“By Jove!” cried Payne, in alarm. “Did you get hit in that shindy just now?”
“No; don’t be afraid—I’m all right. It was only a slight seizure,” and his hand, as he removed it from the rail, still trembled a little, but the colour returned to his cheek.
What should have so violently moved this man, who looked as if nothing could disturb his placid equanimity for an instant? It could not be that he was in a weak state of health or of nerve, for had he not just engaged, single-handed, in an encounter with three daring ruffians, and come off victorious? And his weather-tanned features betokened health and strength as clearly as if he had not known a day’s illness for years. The heat was not overpowering; he had not been riding fast, or in any way exerting himself, nor was he subject to attacks of faintness. No, there was nothing. Unless it was that through the quiet air of that sunlit valley came the sound of a woman’s voice—a rich, full, sweet voice, distant but clear—singing a pathetic ballad.
“Are you sure?” went on Payne, looking at him concernedly. “Well, let’s go up to the house and have some brandy and water, you’ll want it, after that, and the sooner the better.”
“Payne,” said the other, with a sort of sternness, laying his hand on his arm. “I don’t want anything just now. If you make a fraction of fuss about me or my idiotic attack, I’ll ascend that horse of mine and say good-bye this very evening.”
“Eccentric as ever!” replied Payne, with a laugh. “My dear fellow, you shall do nothing of the sort, and I’ll promise not to bother you in any way. Come along, let’s go in.”