Читать книгу The Pursuit - Frank Savile - Страница 11

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Aylmer took the proffered hand, lifted his hat, smiled, and recognized the lady of the pier.

He hesitated a moment. He shrugged his shoulders.

"No," he deprecated, and pointed to the other spear-man who was already wheeling to inspect his trophy. "Your thanks are due to our friend Despard, if anywhere."

"No!" she contradicted vehemently. "Did I not see it? You were sacrificing yourself, doing it deliberately. And I shall never forget it—never!"

He smiled again. He looked at the child who sat silent on the saddle-bow, staring down at him.

"Still running away?" queried Aylmer, pleasantly. "Whither, this time? And what was the terrible hurry?"

A guilty grin puckered the little man's lips.

"I thought I knowed you; you're the man of—of yesterday," he shrilled. "I was running from Selim. He wanted me to take siesta, but I did wish to be in the hunt."

Aylmer nodded.

"The usual trouble," he said. "We all want to be in—or, at any rate, to see—the hunt. And we never pay any attention to Selims, worse luck. You'll learn more by experience, sonny."

The child made a little gesture of protest.

"That's not my name," he answered solemnly. "Mother calls me Jackanapes, or Jack. But I'm John, really, just John."

"Just John," assented Aylmer. "Just John what?"

"John Aylmer," said the boy and stared in surprise at his new friend's startled visage. But the other John Aylmer was not looking at his namesake. He was looking at the girl who held him.

Her eyes answered the glance gravely, sternly, even defiantly, and in silence.

"You?" cried Aylmer. "You are—?"

She hesitated.

"John's nurse," she said, looking him steadily in the face.