"Then I am to take care of myself, as a matter of duty," stated Mr. Trevelyan, after listening to Dr. Ingram's opinion. "Very well. If it is my duty, there's no more to be said."
Mr. Trevelyan's notion of "taking care" might not altogether coincide with his doctor's; still, so far as his reasoning faculties were convinced, he promised to make a difference. He would not for the present walk so far, or sit up so late; and he would endeavour to be in by sundown—unless urgently wanted out. Duty to his people would, of course, come first.
"Duty to them may be included in duty to yourself," suggested Dr. Ingram. "If you are not careful, your duty to them may be short-lived."
"Thanks for plain-speaking. Now I know what I am about," said Mr. Trevelyan.
Jean gave herself up to the care of her father; went hither and thither unweariedly, that he might have the less to do; and left mere calls upon friends for the future. The Lucases, like others, had to wait.
To have Mr. Trevelyan even partially incapacitated was a new experience for Jean. She had never before realised the amount of work which he daily accomplished without fuss, for the thorough care of his extensive though not thickly-populated Parish, until now, when much had to be left undone, and much rested on her own shoulders.
He was little better yet—one dismally wet day, about a fortnight after the dinner-party. Cold and hoarseness, rheumatism and weakness, were persistent; and fight as he might against these ailments, he could not vanquish them.
For two Sundays, he had been unable to preach from sheer voicelessness. It was all very well for him to promise "not to attempt so much as usual." What he did do was the very utmost that he had power to accomplish; and none knew this better than Dr. Ingram.
The temperature was barely above freezing-point; and the intense chill of almost frozen fog and mud and prevailing damp penetrated everywhere. Mr. Trevelyan had not been out since lunch; and he had found it impossible to keep warm, even over the blazing study fire. Rheumatic aching had him in its grasp; hoarseness was worse; and he looked so ill that Jean wished it had been Dr. Ingram's day for a call. He would come on the morrow; and meantime, as occasional hot baths were ordered, Jean persuaded her father to take one early, and to go straight to bed. For a wonder, Mr. Trevelyan complied.
Somewhat later, Jean went softly into his room, to find him sound asleep; so she moved softly away.