He shook his head, patted her affectionately upon the shoulder, and smiled down into her upraised face. “No, no, my dear, I've a little work to do,” he replied kindly. “There are a few papers I want to look over, so run up to Molly and tell her I sent my sunshine to her.”
He stooped and kissed her cheek; and Betty, with a troubled heart, went slowly up to Mrs. Lightfoot's chamber.
The Major sat down at his writing table, and spread his papers out before him. Then he raised the wick of his lamp, and with his pen in his hand, resolutely set himself to his task. When Cupid came in with the decanter of Burgundy, he filled a glass and held it absently against the light, but he did not drink it, and in a moment he put it down with so tremulous a hand that the wine spilled upon the floor.
“I've a touch of the gout, Cupid,” he said testily. “A touch of the gout that's been hanging over me for a month or more.”
“Huccome you ain' fit hit, Ole Marster?”
“Oh, I've been fighting it tooth and nail,” answered the old gentleman, “but there are some things that always get the better of you in the end, Cupid, and the gout's one of them.”
“En rheumaticks hit's anurr,” added Cupid, rubbing his knee.
He rolled a fresh log upon the andirons and went out, while the Major returned, frowning, to his work.
He was still at his writing table, when he heard the sound of a horse trotting in the drive, and an instant afterwards the quick fall of the old brass knocker. The flush deepened in his face, and with a look at once angry and appealing, he half rose from his chair. As he waited the outside bars were withdrawn, there followed a few short steps across the hall, and Dan came into the library.
“I suppose you know what's brought me back, grandpa?” he said quietly as he entered.