Ah, well! it was not long before I repented me of that disagreeable speech.
Dave gave me a queer, quizzical look but said not a word.
Rob was very ill again after Dave had gone; his anxiety lest his father should discover Dave’s sacrifice was renewed and they had not yet been able to discover where the old horse, Lucifer, had been taken when Alf Reeder, who had been hired to board and care for it, had moved away from his stock farm. And Rob seemed never to have these two anxieties out of his mind. I wondered that they should have trusted the men from whom they had bought the old horse and who had cruelly tried to race him, to take care of him, but it seemed that the man had laid all the blame upon the horse’s trainer, declaring that he was unaware of the horse’s condition and promising to use the greatest care and skill to restore him to health and strength. And after all, as Octavia said, Dave and Rob were only boys—only Palmyra boys, at that, who could not be expected to know anything of the world.
Dave had gone off about his own business while they were still uncertain as to the horse’s whereabouts, Alf Reeder having left letters of inquiry unanswered. Rob thought it was altogether selfish of Dave to do this. He felt himself to be helpless and deserted and his nervous suffering increased his illness.
His nurse was worn out and Loveday, famously good in sickness, went often to her assistance.
“There’s more than Master Rob that needs nursing over there,” said Loveday. “In all my born days I never see Mr. Horace Pa’tridge, nor no other one of the Pa’tridges, so broke down.”
I met Uncle Horace in the road and he went by me without speaking and with bowed head.
I had the glove in my hand. I had seen him coming and had meant to return it to him, telling him just where I had found it. It was wicked and revengeful, but he had been perfectly sardonic about Dave. I felt almost certain that he knew the whole story now—although the others took it for granted that it was the business troubles that had so changed him.
I was brought to a better mind by the sight of him and hid the glove under my cape. When I reached home I asked Loveday if the tramp to whom she had given coffee on the day of our return from the city was Uncle Horace.
“Well, now, seein’ you’re so sharp, Miss Bathsheba, mebbe I might as well own up that it was,” said Loveday. “He looked so white and ’peared so kind of queer that I was scared and I felt as if ’twas best to say nothin’ about it.”