"I shall either have to borrow again, at a rate of interest that will pretty well deprive me of the yearly pittance I have now,—or else let things go, and become bankrupt," he said gloomily.
Dorothea did not feel herself competent to give advice on either of those dire alternatives. She only said gently, after a pause—"But at least, ought we not to economise?"
Another jerk came. "Economise as much as you like, my dear," he said, "only pray don't expect me to live on cold mutton; for I can't do it."
"But—" Dorothea felt hopeless. How was she to know what was right?
"I can't and won't! That's flat," said the Colonel. Then, with a forlorn attempt to pull himself together, "But there's a month yet! Something may happen. One never knows what will turn up."
If the Colonel found comfort in such a vague calculation on chances, Dorothea did not. She had better comfort; nevertheless, it was hard, as the days went by, not to feel anxious. She had no one to confide in, and the future wore a burdened look.
Nothing would induce the Colonel to submit to simpler and less expensive meals. Yet Dorothea could see in him a growing pain and oppression. Week by week the threatened trouble weighed more heavily. Till within a few days of Christmas, he bore up, walking, sleeping, eating, as usual; but then there was a change, sudden enough to be marked, though Dorothea hardly knew how it began. The red of his complexion was changing into a sickly grey; strength failed, when he would have gone fast and far; he had no appetite, and complained bitterly of everything on table.
Did this mean coming illness? Dorothea watched with a sinking heart, unable to decide. She had very little experience. All recollection of the Erskines was driven from her mind for the time by these pressing troubles.
