When Cupid came in with the decanter of
Burgundy, he filled a glass and held it absently against the light, but he
did not drink it, and in a moment he put it down with so tremulous a hand
that the wine spilled upon the floor.
"I've a touch of the gout, Cupid," he said testily. "A touch of the gout
that's been hanging over me for a month or more."
"Huccome you ain' fit hit, Ole Marster?"
"Oh, I've been fighting it tooth and nail," answered the old gentleman,
"but there are some things that always get the better of you in the end,
Cupid, and the gout's one of them."
"En rheumaticks hit's anurr," added Cupid, rubbing his knee.
He rolled a fresh log upon the andirons and went out, while the Major
returned, frowning, to his work.
He was still at his writing table, when he heard the sound of a horse
trotting in the drive, and an instant afterwards the quick fall of the old
brass knocker. The flush deepened in his face, and with a look at once
angry and appealing, he half rose from his chair. As he waited the outside
bars were withdrawn, there followed a few short steps across the hall, and
Dan came into the library.
"I suppose you know what's brought me back, grandpa?" he said quietly as he
entered.
The Major started up and then sat down again.
"I do know, sir, and I wish to God I didn't," he replied, choking in his
anger.
Dan stood where he had halted upon his entrance, and looked at him with
eyes in which there was still a defiant humour.
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