Part 89 (1/2)

Yes. They were all in order, all right. With those flouris.h.i.+ng statements before him, how could he have been so foolish as to cast suspicion on George? Thomas had a pen in one hand, and the fore-finger of the other pointed to the page, when his face went white as one in mortal agony, and drops of moisture broke out upon his brow.

The same pain, which had taken him occasionally before, had come to him again. Mortal agony in verity it seemed. He dropped the pen; he lay back in his chair; he thought he must have fallen to the ground. How long he so lay he could not quite tell: not very long probably, counted by minutes; but counted by pain long enough for a lifetime. Isaac Hastings, coming in with a message, found him. Isaac stood aghast.

”I am not very well, Isaac. Give me your arm. I will go and sit for a little time in the dining-room.”

”Shall I run over for Mr. Snow, sir?”

”No. I shall be better soon. In fact, I am better, or I could not talk to you. It was a sudden paroxysm.”

He leaned upon Isaac Hastings, and reached the dining-room. It was empty. Isaac left him there, and proceeded, unordered, to acquaint Mr.

George G.o.dolphin. He could not find him.

”Mr. George has gone out,” said a clerk. ”Not two minutes ago.”

”I had better tell Maria, then,” thought Isaac. ”He does not look fit to be left alone.”

Speeding up to Maria's sitting-room, he found her there, talking to Margery. Miss Meta, in a cool brown-holland dress and a large straw hat, was dancing about in glee. She danced up to him.

”I am going to the hayfield,” said she. ”Will you come?”

”Don't I wish I could!” he replied, catching her up in his arms. ”It is fine to be Miss Meta G.o.dolphin! to have nothing to do all day but roll in the hay.”

She struggled to get down. Margery was waiting to depart. A terrible thing if Margery should have all the rolling to herself and Meta be left behind! They went out, and he turned to his sister.

”Maria, Mr. G.o.dolphin is in the dining-room, ill. I thought I would come and tell you. He looks too ill to be left alone.”

”What is the matter with him?” she asked.

”A sudden pain,” he said. ”I happened to go into his room with a message, and saw him. I almost thought he was dead at first; he looked so ghastly.”

Maria hastened down. Thomas, better then, but looking fearfully ill still, was leaning upon the arm of a couch. Maria went up and took his hand.

”Oh, Thomas, you look very ill! What is it?”

He gazed into her face with a serene countenance, a quiet smile. ”It is only another of my warnings, Maria. I have been so much better that I am not sure but I thought they had gone for good.”

Maria drew forward a chair and sat down by him. ”Warnings?” she repeated.

”Of the end. You must be aware, Maria, that I am attacked with a fatal malady.”

Maria was not quite unaware of it, but she had never understood that a fatal termination was inevitable. She did not know but that he might live to be an old man. ”Can nothing be done for you?” she breathed.

”Nothing.”

Her eyes glistened with the rising tears. ”Oh, Thomas! you must not die!

We could none of us bear to lose you. George could not do without you; Janet could not; I think I could not.”

He gently shook his head. ”We may not pick and choose, Maria--who shall be left here, and who be taken. Those go sometimes who, seemingly, can be least spared.”