“Eh?—a—yes—yes.”
“By my faith, I thought as much.”
“Yet, stay,” said Gray, for he was cautious to the extreme. “Do you know when Sir Frederick will be here again?”
“Not till to-morrow, sir.”
“Humph! Then I will see the poor creature you mention.”
“Certainly, sir. This way, sir. Your breakfast will be ready by the time your worship comes down stairs again.”
“Who can this be that he calls the poor creature?” thought Gray, as he followed the landlord up stairs.
“This way, sir,” exclaimed the loquacious host. “It was touch and go with her, poor thing, they say; but Sir Frederick saved her. I dare say, however, your honour knows all about it. That room, sir, if you please.”
The landlord now opened a door, and, popping his head in, cried in a very different tone to that in which he addressed Gray, upon the supposition of his acquaintance with Sir Frederick Hartleton,—
“Hilloa! Here’s a gentleman come to see you, old ’un.”