The doctor almost wished the question unspoken, for it brought such a look of distress to his favourite’s face. Io, however, answered clearly and distinctly every interrogation; she had been longing to consult her experienced old friend.
“Eats as usual, you say; complains of no pain; can take a great deal of exercise; seems to have lost no physical strength! How do you account for his altered looks?”
“I suppose that I must tell you everything, dear godfather,” said Io, resting her clasped hands on the arm of the doctor’s chair; “indeed it is a great comfort to be able to consult you. How often I have wished to do so when you were far away! You know how happy, how very happy we were at the time of our engagement, for you were in England then, before Oscar returned to Moulmein.”
“You both seemed perfectly satisfied with the number which you had drawn in life’s lottery,” said the doctor smiling; “till the gilding wears off the prize, I suppose that lovers usually are so. Coldstream was certainly proud of what he had won, and bore with a fair amount of philosophy all the jests and banter of your madcap cousin Walter Manly.”
“Ah, poor Walter!” sighed Io; then she continued her narration:—“Of course our first parting was a great trial, but I need not dwell upon that; we looked forward to meeting again, and the arrival of Oscar’s letters was a frequent source of delight. At last the time of separation drew to a close. Oscar wrote, ‘I shall, please God, arrive almost as soon as this letter. Be sure that you send me a welcome by the pilot.’ We knew that Oscar would land at Dover, for our house was scarcetwo miles from the castle. I need not say how I counted the days, how I watched every large vessel coming up the Channel. As we could not tell the exact time when the Argus would arrive, I prepared a long letter to be sent to the office at Portsmouth to greet Oscar before he should quit the vessel, as it was arranged that the pilot should take it. A very long journal letter it was—”
“Containing sweet things, as the white comb holds honey?” asked the playful doctor.
Io slightly blushed as she replied, “There were all sorts of things in my letter: scraps of news—whatever amused me, and I thought would amuse Oscar. I remember that I wrote of various friends, and of presents which I had received. I told of the favourite hunter on which Walter won the steeplechase—”
“Ah, that Walter!” interrupted the doctor; “I prophesied years ago that he would break his neck in some wild prank!”
“Your prophecy came but too true,” said Io sadly. “You must have heard of the foolish bet which cost him his life.”
“Ay, ay; he would climb up some inaccessible cliff,” observed Pinfold. “I read about it in the papers at the time. But let us return to the subject of Oscar.”