“Here, let me fetch father,” he said.
“No, no; stop! I shall be better directly.”
“But what was it?”
“The horses—the horses!”
“Oh, don’t make a fuss about them. We’ve got to think of ourselves. We can get some more horses, I daresay.”
“Yes, but not when we want them,” said Norman, angrily. “Can’t you see: they were our last chance.”
Rifle stared.
“What—you mean?” he faltered.
“Of course. Father would have stayed here to the last to try to protect the home he has made, but when things came to the worst, we should have had to mount some morning and gallop off.”
In spite of the peril they were in, Rifle laughed.