Part 65 (2/2)
Here Dr. Bland puts his head inside the door, and beckons Lilian to withdraw.
”The five minutes are up,” he says, warningly, consulting the golden turnip he usually keeps concealed somewhere about his person, though where, so large is it, has been for years a matter of speculation with his numerous patients.
”I must go,” says Lilian, rising: the door is open, and all that goes on within the chamber can be distinctly heard in the corridor outside. ”Now try to sleep, will you not? and don't worry, and don't even think if you can help it.”
”Must you go?” wistfully.
”I fear I must.”
”You will come again to-morrow, very early?”
”I will come to-morrow, certainly, as early as I can. Good-night.”
”Good-night.”
Closing the door softly behind her, she advances into the corridor, where she still finds Guy and Dr. Bland conversing earnestly. Perhaps they have been waiting for her coming.
”So you have persuaded him to go to sleep?” asks the doctor, beaming kindly upon ”pretty Miss Chesney,” that being the t.i.tle given to her long ago by the country generally.
”Yes. I think he will sleep now,” Lilian answers. ”He looks very white, poor, poor fellow, but not so badly as I expected.”
”I suppose your presence did him good. Well, I will take a last look at him before leaving,” moving toward the closed door.
”Can I do anything for you?” asks Guy, following him, glad of any excuse that makes him quit Lilian's side.
”Yes,”--smiling,--”you can, indeed. Take your ward down-stairs and give her a gla.s.s of wine. She is too pale for my fancy. I shall be having her on my hands next if you don't take care.” So saying, he disappears.
Guy turns coldly to Lilian.
”Will you come down, or shall I send something up to you?” he asks, icily.
Lilian's fears have subsided; consequently her spirits have risen to such a degree that they threaten to overflow every instant. A desire for mischief makes her heart glow.
”I shall go with you,” she says, with a charming grimace. ”I might blame myself in after years if I ever willingly failed to cultivate every second spent in your agreeable society.”
So saying, she trips down-stairs gayly beside him, a lovely, though rather naughty, smile upon her lips.
CHAPTER XXVII.
”_Claud._--In mine eye, she is the sweetest lady that ever I looked on.”--_Much Ado About Nothing._
Because of Archibald's accident, and because of much hara.s.sing secret thought, Christmas is a failure this year at Chetwoode. Tom Steyne and his wife and their adorable baby come to them for a week, it is true, and try by every means in their power to lighten the gloom that hangs over the house, but in vain.
Guy is obstinately _distrait_, not to say ill-tempered; Lilian is fitful,--now full of the wildest spirits, and anon capricious and overflowing with little imperious whims; Archibald, though rapidly mending, is of course invisible, and a complete dead letter; while Cyril, usually the most genial fellow in the world and devoid of moods, is at this particular time consumed with anxiety, having at last made up his mind to reveal to his mother his engagement to Cecilia and ask her consent to their speedy marriage. Yet another full month elapses, and already the first glad thought of spring is filling every breast, before he really brings himself to speak upon the dreaded subject.
His disclosure he knows by instinct will be received ungraciously and with disapprobation, not only by Lady Chetwoode, but by Sir Guy, who has all through proved himself an enemy to the cause. His determined opposition will undoubtedly increase the difficulties of the situation, as Lady Chetwoode is in all matters entirely ruled by her eldest son.
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