“But the news may not be true,” pleaded Grey; “and even if it is, what then? Oh, Mrs Bolter, pray think!”
“Yes, my dear,” said the little lady, “I have thought, and I’m quite calm. I shall suffer it, though, no more. I shall wait till my dear brother is found, and then I shall go straight back to England. I shall go by the first boat. I will pack up my things at once, and get ready. You see I am quite calm. Mr Stuart, you have always been very kind to me.”
“Well, I don’t know, not verra,” said the old Scot; “but ye’ve been verra good to Grey here.”
“I’m going to ask a favour of you, Mr Stuart.”
“Annything I can do for ye, Mrs Bolter, I will.”
“Then will you give me shelter with Grey here for a few weeks?”
“Or a few months or years if ye like,” said the old man, taking a liberal pinch of snuff; “but ye needn’t fash yourself. You won’t leave Harry Bolter.”
“Not leave him?” said the little lady, with forced calmness.
“Not you, for I don’t believe there’s aught wrong. It’s a bit patient he’s found up the river, and if it isn’t, it’s somebody else; and even if it wasn’t, ye’d just give him a bit o’ your mind, and then you’d forgive him.”
“Forgive him?” said Mrs Bolter; “I was always suspicious of these expeditions.”