And Jeff did get well and rode right bravely. Better sport was never seen.
CHAPTER VI.
Jeff was now ten years old, for nearly two years have gone by since he came to England. He has grown very much, and is a tall muscular boy, with a bright smiling face; only when he is alone or unconscious of observation he is sometimes subdued, and there is a yearning wistful look in his big brown eyes that seems to declare he is not quite happy.
"You have news from India to-day, Geoffry," said Uncle Hugh one morning rather stiffly as he met the boy coming down the stairs with a letter in his hand. "Your Aunt Annie has also had a letter from your mother."
Jeff looked rather as if he had been crying, and his voice trembled a little when he answered Mr. Colquhoun:
"Yes, there is news. She is coming—at last. But oh, she is ill!"
Jeff nearly broke down here. "Uncle Hugh, I may go to London and meet her next week."
The passionate pleading of the boy's voice in the last words was indescribable.
He had grown used to negatives presented to his requests during his stay at Loch Lossie, but this was a widely different and an urgent matter.