“No fish, sir? Why, James Gadby came along and said that the river was just full.”
“Yes; I daresay, but I came back. Headache. Not well.”
“Let me send for Dr Asher, sir. There’s nothing like taking things in time. A bit of cold, perhaps, with getting yourself so wet wading.”
“No, no, Mrs Sarson; there’s nothing the matter. Please don’t bother me now. I want to think.”
The woman went out softly, shaking her head.
“Poor boy!” she said to herself; “I know. Things are not going with him as they should, and it’s a curious thing that love, as well enough I once used to know.”
“Back the Prince’s filly.”
The words stood out so vividly before Chris Lisle that he sprang from his seat, caught up a book, and threw himself back once more in a chair by the window to read.
But, as he turned over the leaves, he heard a familiar voice speaking in its eager, quick tones, and, directly after, there was another voice which seemed to thrill him through and through, the sounds coming in at the open window as the light steps passed.
“No, Mary dear. Let’s go home.”