"I hope you are well, Erskine," said the old man kindly, at the same time looking anxiously into my face.
"As well as I shall ever be," was my reply. "Do I look ill?"
"No, I can't say you do, but you look strange. Nothing the matter, I hope?" And again he looked at me anxiously.
"It is good of you to come and see me," was my response.
"Not a bit of it! Not a bit of it!" and his reply was eager. "The truth is, I want a chat with you. I have told them at home to put off dinner until eight o'clock in the hope that I may persuade you to come back with me. I have a trap close by."
I shook my head.
"I am afraid I am not up to it, Squire. But I hope you have no bad news?"
"Oh no, no bad news at all; quite the other way. But I say, my lad, I don't like the idea of your being alone here night after night, with only your man to look after you. You really don't look well. Come and pay me a week's visit, will you? I feel it would do you good."
"You are awfully kind, Squire, but do you know I am a good deal of a hermit. I have come to love this lonely life of mine, and every one is so kind that I don't feel as though I lived amongst strangers."
"That's right, that's right; but promise me you will come back with me."