"Ah, is that you, Moyle? Is my father any better?"
His heart sank as he asked the question, with agonizing dread of the reply.
"No, sir; I'm afraid he ain't no better. The doctor from Abbeytown is coming again to-night. Will you drive, sir?"
"No. Get me home as fast as you can, for God's sake!"
"Yes, sir. I brought your old bay mare. She's the fastest we've got."
"Poor old Kitty! Good to the last, is she? Get on."
They were bowling along the level road behind bay Kitty, the first hunter Allan had bought on his own account in his old college days, when his liberal allowance enabled him to indulge his taste in horseflesh. Kitty had distinguished herself in a small way as a steeplechaser before Allan picked her up at Tattersall's, and she was an elderly person when he came into his fortune; so he had left her in the home stables as a general utility horse.
Kitty carried him along the road at a splendid pace, and hardly justified impatience even in the most anxious heart.
His mother was waiting in the porch when he alighted.
"Dear mother," he said, as he kissed and soothed her and led her into the house, "why do you stand out in the cold? You are shivering."