“No letter!” he repeated dully, looking at her with wide-open, searching eyes. She sadly shook her head.
“Here are £5, lad. Take the note and to-morrow set out for Brow,” and the Duke held out the note for his acceptance, but he sat with averted gaze in the proud silence of keen disappointment.
“Do not refuse, Robert,” pleaded Jean softly. “’Tis only a loan.”
Slowly he took the money and folded it between his fingers. “Thank ye, my lord,” he said quietly. “I will accept it, for I am in sore need of it at this moment.”
“That’s right, my lad,” he said heartily. “What is a friend for if he cannot extend or receive a favor?” and he turned to help his daughter into her cloak.
Quickly Robert pressed the money into Jean’s hand and whispered to her, “Take it at once to Gilbert and bid him hasten to Mossgiel before it is too late to save the roof over mother’s head.”
“But, Robert——” she protested, but he would not listen to her.
“Do ye not see ’tis near sundown of the second day?” he told her impatiently, “and Gilbert will have to ride fast if he would get to Mossgiel before night overtakes him; noo hasten, Jean.” Still she lingered, reluctant to go.
“Oh, lad, this money is for you; it means your health, our happiness. It isn’t right to——”