"Todd is outside, the hack is at the gate, and Jemima is now waiting for him in his old room at home.

Give me your arm, you blessed old cripple, and let me help you downstairs.

Out of the way, father, or he'll change his mind and I'll have to pick him up bodily and carry him." St.George shot a merry glance at Harry from under his eyebrows, and with a wave of his hand and a deprecating shake of his head at the colonel said: "These rovers and freebooters, Talbot, have so lorded it over their serfs that they've lost all respect for their betters.

Give me your hand, you vagabond, and if you break my neck I'll make you bury me." The colonel looked on silently and a sharp pain gripped his throat.
When, in all his life, had he ever been spoken to by his boy in that spirit, and when in all his life had he ever seen that same tenderness in Harry's eyes?
What had he not missed?
"Harry, may I make a suggestion ?" he asked almost apologetically.

The young fellow turned his head in respectful attention: "Put St.George in my carriage--it is much more comfortable--and let me drive him home--my eyes are quite good in the daytime, after I get used to the light, and I am still able to take the road.