'Mean!' exclaimed Dulcie, her sweet face growing very pale in spite of herself at the bluntness of Shafto, and the unmistakable anger of his tone and bearing.
'Yes—with your tomfoolery.'
'How?—why?'
'Penniless as you are—he at least.'
'Good evening, Shafto; you are very unpleasant, to say the least of it,' said Dulcie, as she gathered up her wools and sailed into the house, while his eyes followed her with a menacing and very ugly expression indeed.
CHAPTER VI.
THE SECRET PACKET.
The broken health brought by Lennard from the miasmatic Terai of Nepaul was rapidly becoming more broken than ever, and, though not yet fifty, he was a premature old man, and it seemed as if the first part of Florian's presentiment or prevision of coming sorrow would soon be fulfilled.
His steps became very feeble, and he could only get about, in the autumn sunshine, with the aid of a stick and Florian's arm; and the latter watched him with grief and pain, tottering like the aged, panting and leaning heavily on his cane, as ever and anon he insisted on being led up a steep slope from which he could clearly see the old church of Revelstoke on its wave-beaten promontory, overlooked by sad and solitary hills, and his hollow eyes glistened as he gazed on it, with a kind of yearning expression, as if he longed to be at peace, and by the side of her he had laid there, it seemed long years ago—a lifetime ago.
Poor Lennard was certainly near his tomb, and all who looked upon him thought so; yet his calm eye, ever looking upward, betrayed no fear.