I lifted myself, and began looking for my crutches. John found and put them into my hand, with a grave, pitiful look.
"You don't need those sort of things," I said, making pretence to laugh, for I had not grown used to them, and felt often ashamed.
"I hope you will not need them always."
"Perhaps not—Dr. Jessop isn't sure. But it doesn't matter much; most likely I shan't live long." For this was, God forgive me, always the last and greatest comfort I had.
John looked at me—surprised, troubled, compassionate—but he did not say a word. I hobbled past him; he following through the long passage to the garden door. There I paused—tired out. John Halifax took gentle hold of my shoulder.
"I think, if you did not mind, I'm sure I could carry you. I carried a meal-sack once, weighing eight stone."
I burst out laughing, which maybe was what he wanted, and forthwith consented to assume the place of the meal-sack. He took me on his back—what a strong fellow he was!—and fairly trotted with me down the garden walk. We were both very merry; and though I was his senior I seemed with him, out of my great weakness and infirmity, to feel almost like a child.
"Please to take me to that clematis arbour; it looks over the Avon. Now, how do you like our garden?"
"It's a nice place."
He did not go into ecstasies, as I had half expected; but gazed about him observantly, while a quiet, intense satisfaction grew and diffused itself over his whole countenance.