“Robbie, where is he?”
“Gone, just gone, not above two minutes,” replied Liza, still whimpering.
“Where?”
“I scarce know—to Penrith, I think. There was no keeping him back. When father came in and told him what had happened at Carlisle, he flung away and would not be hindered. He has gone off in Reuben's wagon.”
“Which way?”
“They took the low road.”
“Then I've missed them,” said Rotha, sinking into a chair in a listless attitude.
“And he's as weak as water, and he'll take another fever, as I told him, and ramble on same as—”
“Liza,” interrupted Rotha, “did you ever tell him—in play I mean—did you ever repeat anything he had said when he was unconscious?”
“Not that about his mammy?”