He shook hands and left the room, when Max’s first step was to run to the window, and open it gently, but there was not a sound to be heard but the lapping of the waves among the rocks below.
Time after time The Mackhai, whose manner seemed greatly softened to him, suggested to Max that he should go fishing, shooting, or try one of the ponies.
“The keeper will go with you,” he said; “and you seem to be wasting so much time. Why, we are turning you into quite a hospital nurse.”
“Oh no; I would rather not go without Kenneth,” said Max hastily; and The Mackhai said no more, being in doubt in his own mind whether the refusal was from cowardice or from disinclination to leave the invalid, who grew more fretful and impatient every day that he approached convalescence.
“Why can’t you go and fish, or shoot, or do something, Max? You haven’t tried for the trout yet. How I do hate to see you sitting there gaping at a fellow!”
“Did I gape?”
“Yes; you’re always gaping, or bothering me to take one of old Curzon’s doses. I say!”
“Yes.”
“See Tavvy this morning?”
“Yes.”