"Dinna fear, lassie, dinna fear," he said. He said it in such a deep
and placid voice that it carried consolation to my spirit, and brought
a shadow of conviction trailing along behind it. "We'll find him. I
say it before the livin' God, _we'll find him_!"
But that little candle of hope went out in the cold air, for I could
see that night was coming closer, cold and dark and silent. I forgot
about Whinnie, and didn't even notice which direction he took when he
strode off on his lame foot. But I called Bobs to me, and tried to
quiet his whimpering, and talked to him, and told him Dinkie was lost,
the little Dinkie we all loved, and implored him to go and find my boy
for me.
But the poor dumb creature didn't seem to understand me, for he
cringed and trembled and showed a tendency to creep off to the stable
and hide there, as though the weight of this great evil which had
befallen his house lay on him and him alone. And I was trying to coax
the whimpering Bobs back to the shack-steps when Dinky-Dunk himself
came galloping up through the uncertain light, with Lady Alicia a few
hundred yards behind him.
"Have you found him?" my husband asked, quick and curt. But there was
a pale greenish-yellow tint to his face that made me think of
Rocquefort cheese.
"No," I told him. I tried to speak calmly, determined not to break
down and make a scene there before Lady Alicia, who'd reined up,
stock-still, and sat staring in front of her, without a spoken word.