“I want no thinking, Humphrey; and we can still be friends. Come up to the house.”
“And what would Miss Tiny say?”
If Humphrey had stabbed him with the iron-pointed staff he carried, he could not have given him greater pain; and his eyes wore a strange piteous aspect as they gazed upon the young keeper’s face,
“You’ve got her to think about too, sir,” said Humphrey, “same as I have. Oh no, Master Richard, it wouldn’t never, never do.”
“Come up to the house, Humphrey—come up to the house.”
And then, without another word, but closely followed by his late servant, Richard strode hastily through the wood, whose briars and twigs in the unaccustomed path seemed now to take the part of fate, and lashed and tore him in his reckless passage, till his face was smeared with the blood which he had wiped hastily away.
“Has Mrs Lloyd come back from her walk?” said Richard to the staring footman.
“Yes, sir, two hours ago,” said the man.
“Go into the study, Humphrey Trevor,” said Richard, quietly; and then to himself, “Poor woman! and it was done for me.”