“Ah! I understand that you would do anything for her.”
“That I would, if there was anything I could do,” said Johnny, hastily finishing his meal.
“Well, you’ve done something to-day.”
“That—oh, that was nothing. I shouldn’t have made such a fool of myself if I hadn’t been seedy before. I hear the pony,” he added. “Excuse me.” And, with a murmured grace, he rose. Then, recollecting himself, “No end of thanks. I don’t know how to thank you enough.”
“Don’t; I’ve done nothing,” said Lord Fordham, wringing his hand. “I only hope—”
The words stuck in his throat, and with a sigh he watched the lad ride off.
CHAPTER XXI. — AN ACT OF INDEPENDENCE.
Soldier now and servant true;
Earth behind and heaven in view.
Isaac Williams.
Marmaduke Alwyn Evelyn, Viscount Fordham, was the fourth bearer of that title within ten years. His father had not lived to wear it, and his two elder brothers had both died in early youth. His precarious existence seemed to be only held on a tenure of constant precaution, and if his mother ventured to hope that it might be otherwise with the two youngest of the family, it was because they were of a shorter, sturdier, more compact form and less transparent complexion than their elders, and altogether seemed of a different constitution.