After this Bessie came down, and the conversation took an easier turn, the exhibition of the family photograph, with the well-dressed wife and comfortable baby, having its due effect on Mrs Warren. A shakedown was offered to Harry in the kitchen, and at a late hour they all went to bed, if not to sleep, after the day’s excitement.
The next morning, as Wyn, though he was still rather sick and headachy, and anything but presentable, was preparing to go about his work and to inquire for Mr Edgar, and as Mrs Warren was making Florence tidy, in Bessie’s hat, to accompany her on a penitential errand to Ravenshurst, there was a tap at the open door, and there stood Alwyn Cunningham himself, as Mrs Warren said afterwards, for all the world as if he had come to give his orders for a day’s shooting.
“I heard you were here, Harry,” he said, grasping his comrade’s hand. “Warren, I hope you’ll give me a welcome also.”
“Indeed I will, sir, and glad to see you. Hope you’ll overlook the young fellow’s mistake yesterday.”
Alwyn laughed a little.
“They were quite in the right of it,” he said. “Hullo, Wyn, you have punished yourself as well as the horse.”
“Please, sir, if I hadn’t been stupid-like with my nose bleeding, I’d never have give up the letter. I’d have eaten it first!” burst out Wyn miserably.
“It was all for the best,” said Alwyn, “and you’re a faithful little fellow.”
He paused a moment, then went on, aside to Harry:
“My father wishes me to remain here for the present, and he will give facilities for the search in the wood which we wished to make. What are your plans, Harry?”