Part 92 (1/2)
”And if he should ask why I am here,” added she, in a whisper, ”make out some sort of excuse, but don't mention my grandfather; these fas.h.i.+onable physicians are such sn.o.bs, they cannot abide visiting any but great folk. Isn't it true?”
”Yes, dear, it is true,” said he, still humouring her.
”The fact is,” said she, in a low, confiding voice, ”I may confess it to you, but the fact is, I don't well know why I am here myself! I suppose Sir Within knows--perhaps my uncle may.” And in her vague, meaningless look might now be seen how purposeless and unguided were all her speculations. ”There, go now, and send my maid to me. Tell Coles, as you pa.s.s down, he may put up the horses. I'll not ride this evening. Do you know, I feel--it is a silly fancy, I suppose--but I feel ill; not actually ill so much as odd.”
He cast one glance, not without compa.s.sion, on her, and went out.
”There's a young woman above stairs mighty like 'in' for a fever,” said he to the hostess. ”Get a doctor to see her as soon as you can, and I'll be back soon to hear what he says.”
While the woman of the house, with all that kindliness which attaches to her cla.s.s and nation, busied herself in cares for Kate, O'Rorke hastily made his way back to the inn.
”What is it? What called you away?” asked Ladarelle, as he entered the room.
”She's out of her mind! that's what it is,” said O'Rorke, as he sat down, doggedly, and filled out a b.u.mper of sherry to rally his courage.
”What with anxiety, and fatigue, and fretting, she couldn't bear up any more, and there she is, struck down by fever and raving!”
”Poor thing!” said Ladarelle; but there was no pity in the tone, not a shade of feeling in his countenance; he said the words merely that he might say something.
”Yes, indeed! Ye may well say 'Poor thing!'” chimed in O'Rorke; ”it wouldn't be easy to find a poorer!”
”Do you suspect the thing is serious?” said Ladarelle, with a deep interest in his manner. ”Do you think her life's in danger?”
”I do.”
”Do you really?” And now, through the anxiety in which he spoke, there pierced a trait of a most triumphant satisfaction; so palpable was it, that O'Rorke laid down the gla.s.s he had half raised to his lips, and stared at the speaker. ”Don't mistake--don't misunderstand me!” blurted out Ladarelle, in confusion. ”I wish the poor girl no ill. Why should I?”
”At any rate, you think it would be a good thing for _you!_” said O'Rorke, sternly.
”Well, I must own I don't think it would be a bad one; that is, I mean it would relieve me of a deal of anxiety, and save me no end of trouble.”
”Just so!” said O'Rorke, who, leaning his head on his hand, addressed his thoughts to the very serious question of how all these things would affect himself. Nor did it take him long to see that from the hour Ladarelle ceased to need him, all their ties were broken, and that the fas.h.i.+onable young gentleman who now sat at table with him in all familiarity would not deem him fit company for his valet.”
”This is the fifth time, Master O'Rorke, you have repeated the words, 'Just so!' Will you tell me what they refer to? What is it that is 'just so?'”
”I was thinking of something!” said O'Rorke.
”And what was it? Let us have the benefit of your profound reflections.”
”Well, then, my profound reflections was telling me that if this girl was to die, your honour wouldn't be very long about cutting my acquaintance, and that, maybe, this is the last time I'd have the pleasure of saying, 'Will you pa.s.s me the wine?'”
”What are you drinking? This is Madeira,” said Ladarelle, as he pushed the decanter towards him, and affecting to mistake his meaning.
”No, Sir; I'm drinking port wine,” was the curt reply, for he saw the evasion, and resented it.
”As to that other matter--I mean as to 'cutting you,' O'Rorke--I don't see it--don't see it at all!”
”How do you mean, 'you don't see it?'”
”I mean it is not necessary.”
”Isn't it likely?”