CHAPTER XI
THE BLOOD-RED ROOK
Jaikie was not conscious of most of that evening’s ride. Thirty-six hours of short commons and the gentle swaying of Aurunculeia made him feel slightly sea-sick and then very drowsy. He found a strap in the trappings through which he crooked his arm, and the next he knew he was being lifted down a step-ladder by Randal Glynde in a place which smelt of horses and trodden herbage.
Mr Glynde was a stern host. He gave him a bowl of soup with bread broken into it, but nothing more. “You must sleep before you eat properly,” he said, “or you’ll be as sick as a dog.” Jaikie, who was still a little light-headed, would have gladly followed this advice, when something in Randal’s face compelled his attention. It was very grave, and he remembered it only as merry. The
