“Robert Milburn! Why bless the boy, I am quite interested in his career; he, too, had aspirations in that line. How did he turn out?” asked the Major, with considerable interest.
“Well, he is an industrious worker, and may yet do some clever work, if drink doesn’t throw him.”
“Drink!” exclaimed the other, “I can scarcely believe it. He impressed me as a sober youth, full of the stuff that goes to make a man. What a pity; I suppose it was evil associations.”
“A pretty girl is at the bottom of it, I understand. You know, ‘whom nature makes most fair she scarce makes true.’”
The Major re-adjusted his hat, and breathed deeply.
“Ah! well, I don’t believe in laying everything on women. Maybe it was something else. Has he had no other annoyance, vexations or sorrow?”
“Yes, he lost his mother in mid-winter, but I saw but little change in him; true, he alluded to it in a casual way,” remarked Frost, lightly.
“But such deep grief seeks little sympathy of companions; it lies with a sensitive nature, bound within the narrowest circles of the heart; they only who hold the key to its innermost recesses can speak consolation. From what I know of Robert Milburn this grief must have gone hard with him.”
Here they came upon the track where the trainer was examining a new sulky.
“Bring out ‘Bridal Bells,’ Mr. Noble. I want to show the gentleman some of our standard-breds.”