“Father, did that old man say anything to bring it on?” Joan asked in an undertone of smothered passion, dropping on her knees, and making him lean against her.
“Hush, hush, Joan! He is your grandfather.”
Joan shuddered, and clung closer.
“My darling, that is not all; but I cannot say more now. I cannot think. Only it is God’s will—God’s will for us. The worst is his will.”
“I don’t believe a word about that old man being your grandfather, Joan,” said Dulcibel, half crying. “It is all nonsense; I believe he is an old impostor.”
“Mother, don’t talk about it, please,” entreated Joan. “Father must not say another word.”
Then Leo came, and with his help George managed to walk to the house; but he had no sooner reached his room than unconsciousness set in. One of the worst head attacks that he had had since the autumn followed, and some symptoms were severe enough to cause very serious alarm.
During the full week the slightest mental exertion was absolutely forbidden, if not indeed absolutely impossible; and Joan had to wait longer still for a full detail of what had passed. Meantime, no more was seen of Mr. Brooke.