A week after, though he was better, his going was out of the question. Robert wanted to stay with him, but he would not hear of it. He would follow in a week or so, he said, and Robert must start fair with the rest of the semies.
But all the removal he was ever able to bear was to the 'red room,' the best in the house, opening, as I have already mentioned, from an outside stair in the archway. They put up a great screen inside the door, and there the lan'less laird lay like a lord.
CHAPTER XXI. SHARGAR ASPIRES.
Robert's heart was dreary when he got on the box-seat of the mail-coach at Rothieden—it was yet drearier when he got down at The Royal Hotel in the street of Ben Accord—and it was dreariest of all when he turned his back on Ericson's, and entered his own room at Mrs. Fyvie's.
Shargar had met him at the coach. Robert had scarcely a word to say to him. And Shargar felt as dreary as Robert when he saw him sit down, and lay his head on the table without a word.
'What's the maitter wi' ye, Robert?' he faltered out at last. 'Gin ye dinna speyk to me, I'll cut my throat. I will, faith!'
'Haud yer tongue wi' yer nonsense, Shargar. Mr. Ericson's deein'.'
'O lord!' said Shargar, and said nothing more for the space of ten minutes.
Then he spoke again—slowly and sententiously.