'Please open the door, 'I want to ask your advice. The boy has wandered off on a fishing expedition. Have you seen anything of him this morning?'
'No.'
'Are you sure?'
'Do you think I should tell you a lie?' growled the sulky voice from within.
'What a surly brute!' thought Ida. 'How can Vernon like to make a companion of such a man?'
She lingered, only half convinced, and nervously repeated her story—how Sir Vernon had gone out with Mr. Wendover that morning before seven, and how she had been looking for them, and was afraid they would be caught in the storm which was evidently coming.
'You'd better go home before you're half drowned yourself,' growled the surly voice. 'I'll look for the boy and send him home to you, if he's above ground.'
'Will you! will you really look for him?' faltered Ida, in a rapture of gratitude. 'You know his ways, and he is so fond of you. Pray find him, and bring him home. You shall be liberally rewarded. We shall be deeply grateful,' she added hastily, fearing she had offended by this suggestion of sordid recompense.
'I'll do my best,' grumbled the woman-hater, 'when you've cleared off. I shan't stir till you're gone.'
'I am going this instant, my horse is at the bottom of the Hanger. God bless you for your goodness to my brother.'