“I need reparation and satisfaction, sir; that is what I need.”
“Of course—of course; but you must be strong and well to enforce it,” said Beattie.
“I told Lady Lendrick to leave the child with me. She said she would bring him back to-morrow. I like the boy. What does my pulse say, Beattie?”
“It says that all this talking and agitation are injurious to you,—that you must be left alone.”
The old man sighed faintly, but did not speak.
“Haire and I will take a turn in the garden, and be within call if you want us,” said Beattie.
“Wait a moment,—what was it I had to say? You are too abrupt, Beattie; you snap the cords of thought by such rough handling, and we old men lose our dexterous knack of catching the loose ends, as we once did. There, there—leave me now; the skein is all tangled in hopeless confusion.” He waved his hand in farewell, and they left him.
CHAPTER XXXVIII. A LADY'S LETTER
“Lucy asked me to show him this note from her brother,” said Haire, as he strolled with Beattie down the lawn. “It was no time to do so. Look over it and say what you advise.”