Chapter Thirty Four.
Another Stroke.
“Where’s your mistress, Martha?” said the Major, as he entered the cottage, and handed the old servant the creel. “What—has Mr Reed come?”
“No, sir,” said the old woman, shaking her head, as she opened the basket, and looked at the three brace of handsome trout lying in a bed of freshly-plucked heather. “Poor girl! she has been wandering about in the garden and in the path this hour past, and only came in when it was quite dark. I heard her go up into her bedroom and lock the door, and I could hear her sobbing as if her heart would break.”
“Tut—tut—tut!” ejaculated the Major, as he glanced at his watch. “Humph, too late for him to get here this evening.”
“Shall I cook the trout, sir?” asked Martha.
“Cook them? Yes, two, woman, of course. I’m starving. I’ve been miles and miles to get them. I want some supper as soon as you can. Dear, dear!” he said softly, as the servant went out, “what a nuisance this love is! I shall be glad when they’re married.”
“No, I shall not,” he said to himself after a pause. “Poor child! She was reckoning so on seeing him to-night.”