“This man and I shall not live together on the earth,” he silently swore, and from this hour he never forgot his vow.
But Reid, reckoning on his own personal strength perhaps, had no fear of his master. Nay, he seemed to take a sort of grim pleasure in irritating him, and after a few moments’ silence he began on the subject of May Churchill’s disappearance, of which he had just heard, the report not having yet reached Henderson’s ears.
“Well, ha’ ye heard the last news?” he asked.
“What news?” answered Henderson, sullenly.
“About that bonnie lass fra’ Woodside Farm—”
“What!” cried Henderson, springing up erect, for he had been leaning against one of the stable stalls during the rest of this interview. “What do you say?”
“It’s just hearsay wi’ me,” replied Reid, “but I’ve been told that Miss Churchill’s run away fra’ home, and no one can hear tell of her.”
“I don’t believe it; it’s a lie,” said Henderson, every particle of color dying out of his face. “It’s just some confounded bit of gossip like the rest—but at all events I’ll ride over and see. Saddle Bob for me, Reid.”
The groom proceeded leisurely to obey this order, while Henderson stood by impatient and excited. He kept repeating, “It’s a lie; nothing but a lie;” but Reid could see that every limb of his body was quivering, and that the report had agitated him almost beyond control. The moment the horse was ready Henderson sprang on his back and galloped out of the stable yard. Nor did he draw rein until he reached Woodside Farm. Then he hastily dismounted, and after giving his horse in charge of one of the grooms, he strode to the house door and violently rang the bell.
The maid who opened it said the master was out, but the mistress was in.