“Me, Cornel!” Jarvis said, in a faint voice.  I had not been looking at him in my own preoccupation, but when I did so, I found that the greatest change had come over the fat and ruddy coachman.  “Me, Cornel!” he repeated, wiping the perspiration from his brow.  His ruddy face hung in flabby folds, his knees knocked together, his voice seemed half extinguished in his throat.  Then he began to rub his hands and smile upon me in a deprecating, imbecile way.  “There’s nothing I wouldna do to pleasure ye, Cornel,” taking a step further back.  “I’m sure she kens I’ve aye said I never had to do with a mair fair, weel-spoken gentleman—­” Here Jarvis came to a pause, again looking at me, rubbing his hands.

“Well?” I said.

“But eh, sir!” he went on, with the same imbecile yet insinuating smile, “if ye’ll reflect that I am no used to my feet.  With a horse atween my legs, or the reins in my hand, I’m maybe nae worse than other men; but on fit, Cornel—­It’s no the—­bogles—­but I’ve been cavalry, ye see,” with a little hoarse laugh, “a’ my life.  To face a thing ye dinna understan’—­on your feet, Cornel.”

“Well, sir, if I do it,” said I tartly, “why shouldn’t you?”

“Eh, Cornel, there’s an awfu’ difference.  In the first place, ye tramp about the haill countryside, and think naething of it; but a walk tires me mair than a hunard miles’ drive; and then ye’re a gentleman, and do your ain pleasure; and you’re no so auld as me; and it’s for your ain bairn, ye see, Cornel; and then—­”

“He believes in it, Cornel, and you dinna believe in it,” the woman said.

“Will you come with me?” I said, turning to her.

She jumped back, upsetting her chair in her bewilderment.  “Me!” with a scream, and then fell into a sort of hysterical laugh.  “I wouldna say but what I would go; but what would the folk say to hear of Cornel Mortimer with an auld silly woman at his heels?”

The suggestion made me laugh too, though I had little inclination for it.  “I’m sorry you have so little spirit, Jarvis,” I said.  “I must find some one else, I suppose.”

Jarvis, touched by this, began to remonstrate, but I cut him short.  My butler was a soldier who had been with me in India, and was not supposed to fear anything,—­man or devil,—­certainly not the former; and I felt that I was losing time.  The Jarvises were too thankful to get rid of me.  They attended me to the door with the most anxious courtesies.  Outside, the two grooms stood close by, a little confused by my sudden exit.  I don’t know if perhaps they had been listening,—­as least standing as near as possible, to catch any scrap of the conversation.  I waved my hand to them as I went past, in answer to their salutations, and it was very apparent to me that they also were glad to see me go.