“He’ll go back to stables,” growled Sir Beverley.  “It’s a way colts have—­when they’ve had their fling.  What have you come back for, eh?  Thought I couldn’t do without you?”

There was a stony glint in his eyes as he asked the question.  His thin lips curved sardonically.

Piers, still with anxiety lying cold at his heart, had no place left for resentment.  He made swift and winning answer.  “I’ve been a brute, sir.  I’ve come back to ask your forgiveness.”

The sardonic lips parted.  “Instead of—­a hiding—­eh?” gasped Sir Beverley.

Piers drew back momentarily; but the grey, drawn face compelled his pity.  He stifled his wrath unborn.  “I’ll take that first, sir,” he said steadily.

Sir Beverley’s frown deepened, but his breathing was growing less oppressed.  He suddenly collected his energies and spoke with his usual irascibility.

“Oh, don’t try any of your damned heroics on me, sir!  Apologize like a gentleman—­if you can!  If not—­if not—­” He broke off panting, his lips still forming words that he lacked the strength to utter.

Piers sat down beside him on the crazy bench.  “I will do anything you wish, sir,” he said.  “I’m horribly sorry for the way I’ve treated you.  I’m ready to make any amends in my power.”

“Oh, get away!” growled out Sir Beverley.  But with the words his hand came gropingly forth and fastened in a hard grip on Piers’ arm.  “You talk like a Sunday-school book,” he said.  “What the devil did you do it for, eh?”

It was roughly spoken, but Piers was quick to recognize the spirit behind the words.  He clapped his own hand upon his grandfather’s, and was shocked afresh at its icy coldness.

“I say, do let’s go” he said.  “We can’t talk here.  It’s downright madness to sit in this draughty hole.  Come along, sir!” He thrust a vigorous arm about the old man and hoisted him to his feet.

“Oh, you’re mighty strong!” gasped Sir Beverley.  “Strong enough—­to kick over—­the traces, eh?”

“Never again, sir,” said Piers with decision.

Whereat Sir Beverley looked at him searchingly, and gibed no more.

They went out together on to the open wind-swept hillside, Piers still strongly supporting him, for he stumbled painfully.  It was a difficult progress for them both, and haste was altogether out of the question.

Sir Beverley revived somewhat as they went, but more than once he had to pause to get his breath.  His weakness was a revelation to Piers though he sought to reassure himself with the reflection that it was the natural outcome of his night’s vigil; and moment by moment his compunction grew.

They were no more than a mile from the Abbey, but it took them the greater part of two hours to accomplish the distance, and at the end of it Sir Beverley was hanging upon Piers in a state that bordered upon collapse.

His animal had just returned riderless, and considerable consternation prevailed.  Victor, who was on the watch, rushed to meet them with characteristic nimbleness, and he and Piers between them carried Sir Beverley in, and laid him down before the great hall fire.