“Quite an old friend, then, sir?”
“Yes; and—eh?” said the old man laughingly. “Why, Glyddyr, I can read you like a book. Is there, or has there ever been, anything between Claude and Christopher Lisle? I should think not, indeed. Rubbish, man, rubbish! and—”
They had just turned one of the rugged corners of the glen, and there before them in the distance was Chris Lisle helping Claude to catch a fish—his words, of course, inaudible, but his actions sufficiently demonstrative to make Parry Glyddyr press his teeth hardly together, and the owner of the granite castle grip his stick and swear.
Volume One—Chapter Three.
Lesson the First.
Things that seem far-fetched are sometimes simple matters of fact. Just as Claude was glancing back, and feeling as if she would give anything to be back home, a dove among the trees in the fern-clad glen began to coo, and Mary laughed.
“There,” she said, “only listen. You can’t go back now. It would be absurd.”
“But you are so imprudent,” whispered Claude, whose cheeks were growing hotter. “How could you?”