“Holman, sir,” said the woman. “This is my husband, sir. We heard only yesterday of dear little Missie’s illness, and we couldn’t rest until we came to enquire after her. We greatly ’opes, sir, that the dear little lamb is better. We thought you wouldn’t mind if we asked.”
“By no means,” answered Ogilvie. “Any friends of Sibyl’s, any real friends, are of interest to me.”
He paused and looked into the old woman’s face.
“She’s better, ain’t she, dear lamb?” asked Mrs. Holman.
Ogilvie shook his head; it was a quick movement, his face was very white, his lips opened but no words came. The next instant he had hurried down the road, leaving the old pair looking after him.
Mrs. Holman caught her husband’s hand.
“What do it mean, John?” she asked, “what do it mean?”
“We had best go to the house and find out,” was Holman’s response.
“Yes, we had best,” replied Mrs. Holman; “but, John, I take it that it means the worst. The little lamb was too good for this earth. I always said it, John, always.”
“Come to the house and let’s find out,” said Holman again.