Peebles mounted the stairs, and found Kilpatrick seated at the open window of his room. He gave some commonplace instructions which could quite easily have been fulfilled by any other servant in the house. Peebles, who knew his master’s mind as though he had made him, obeyed the orders, and stood at his elbow silently.
‘Well, Peebles? well?’ asked Kilpatrick. ‘Well, my lord?’ said Peebles,
‘What are you waiting for?’
‘For your lordship’s orders.’
Kilpatrick sat twisting his fingers in a nervous silence for a second or two, and then abruptly asked:
‘Where’s Desmond? I suppose you’ve seen him lately?’
‘Ay!’ said Peebles, ‘I saw him last night.’
‘And what had the young scamp to say for himself? Still on the high horse, I suppose? When does he propose to honour my house with his presence again?’ ‘God forgive us!’ said Peebles, shaking his head at his master with a mournful reproof. ‘“Still on his high horse,” quotha! ’Tis you that are walking wi’ the bare feet o’ conscience in the mire o’ repentance, if your silly pride would let ye own till it.’
Kilpatrick tried to look angrily at the old man, but the continued slow shake of Peebles’ head, and the calm penetration of the eyes that dwelt on his, cowed him.
‘I ask you, Peebles,’ he cried suddenly, ‘is not my position a hard one?’