And the coach rolled away.
Harry looked down at the wretched Benjamin, whose eyes answered with
apprehension and anxiety. "What's the game?" said Benjamin hoarsely. "I
say, master--what d'ye want with me?"
Harry did not answer. He was finding that motherly face, that pleasant
voice, curiously vivid still. This annoyed him, and he forced himself
back with a jerk to the oddity of events. "A queer business, my
Benjamin," he said. "Who was your captain, I wonder?"
Benjamin scowled. "I know nought o' no captain."
"Ah, I thought you did. But I fear you have annoyed the captain,
Benjamin. Now what had you done--or what had you not done?"
"It's not fair, master," Benjamin whined. "You do be making game of me,
and me beat."
"I am rebuked, Benjamin. Good-night."
"Oons, ye won't leave me so?" Benjamin howled. "I ha' done you no harm,
master. Come now, play fair. What d'ye want of me?"
"Nothing, Benjamin, nothing. I like you very well. You are a beautiful
mystery. Pleasant dreams."
The hapless Benjamin howled after him long and loud. Thereby Harry, who
had a musical ear, was spurred to his best pace. "It's a vile voice," he
reflected; "like Lady Waverton's. The marmoreal Alison was right. He
would be better hanged. But so also would Lady Waverton.
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