Volume Ii Part 1 (2/2)
”I think I know her name,” he answered, and he opened the little book lying beside him, and held it towards her. ”Do you know her? where does she live?”
”Grace Rivers!” exclaimed Mrs. Macrae. ”Why, those young ladies have been living here for some weeks; they are here now with their aunt; they are just going away. And how did you get that book?”
”She left it I suppose when she ran to call for help. My servant found it, and thought it was mine, and he brought it here.”
”Well, it is a providential thing some one was by, you might have been killed, sir, and died with no one there. Miss Grace Rivers. Yes, yes. It is her, though Miss Margaret's the one that is aye rambling.”
”When I am a little better I should like to see Miss Grace Rivers,” said Sir Albert, with some hesitation, ”to thank her; do you know where she lives?”
”Indeed, I do not, sir, when she is at home; but she and her sister are here just now.”
”Here!” he exclaimed. ”Do you mean in this house?”
”Yes, here, sir, and there's no need to excite yourself; they are here with a quiet nice lady, not a real aunt, but some way kin to them, and they're all going away soon.”
”Oh, they are going away?” and Sir Albert felt unaccountably disappointed.
”Well, sir, they came for a few weeks, and they liked the place and liked the cooking and felt comfortable, and they stayed on.”
”I am sure I do not wonder,” said Sir Albert, politely, ”if you make them as comfortable as you do me.”
”Hoot, sir, and you that has aye slops. How can ye tell?” and Mrs.
Macrae laughed comfortably; she was beginning to feel at her ease with him.
”Ah, slops--are slops,” he said, with a little grimace, ”but there is a right and a wrong way of sending them up. I still remember being ill at school, and the greasy broth and cold gruel--_cold_ gruel!”
”And may be a deal paid for you there; well, I do not believe in schools for my part.”
”Now your beef tea is good, though I am getting tired of it; and has the doctor never spoken to you about my moving? I am pining to get out.”
”Ech, sir, and you all smashed--you are wonderful, and so cheerful.”
”Am I cheerful? I am afraid you see your own reflection, Mrs. Macrae. I feel dull enough now I am out of pain. But I am very thankful,” he added, in a more serious tone.
”I am sure, sir, we are all thankful too. It would have been a sair pity if you had come here a corpse, and that is bad for an hotel at any time too.”
At that moment John entered and announced the doctor.
”I am earlier than usual, Sir Albert. I have to go some way off, but I wanted to see you first.”
”Thanks! I am getting well fast.”
”And wis.h.i.+ng to go out,” put in Mrs. Macrae, hoping to see the doctor's face express disapprobation and corroborate her old-fas.h.i.+oned idea of fresh air being bad for all cases of sickness.
”Of course, as soon as the moving does not pain you, you have severe bruises to recover from still--but fresh air. Yes, get out as soon as you can--lying here your spirits may go down. Yes, get out as soon as ever you can.”
Sir Albert gave a triumphant smile to Mrs. Macrae, who rose and left them, much exercised in her mind about these new-fangled ways.
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