Page 187 - A Little Bush Maid

He poured something from his flask into its little silver cup and handed it to
Norah. Their eyes met, and she read his meaning through the kindness of

the words that cloaked what he felt. Above her weariness a sense of
comfort stole over Norah. She knew in that look that henceforth they were

friends.

She gulped down the drink, which was hateful, but presently sent a feeling

of renewed strength through her tired limbs. They rode on in silence for
some time, the horses brushing through the long soft grass. Dick

Stephenson pulled hard at his pipe.

"Did--did my father know you this morning?" he asked suddenly.

Norah shook her head mournfully.

"He didn’t know anyone," she answered, "only asked for water and said
things T couldn’t understand. Then when Dad came he knew him at once,

but the Hermit didn’t seem even to know that Dad was there."

"Did he look very bad?"

"Yes--pretty bad," said Norah, hating to hurt him. "He was terribly flushed,

and oh! his poor eyes were awful, so burning and sunken. And--oh!--let’s
canter, Mr. Stephenson, please!"

This time there was no objection. Banker jumped at the quick touch of the
spur as Stephenson’s heel went home. Side by side they cantered steadily

until Norah pulled her pony in at length at the entrance to the timber, where
the creek swung into Anglers’ Bend.

"We’re nearly there," she said.

But to the man watching in the Hermit’s camp the hours were long indeed.

The Hermit was too weak to struggle much. There had been a few sharp
paroxysms of delirium, such as Norah had seen, during which David Linton