Annie clung to him still. "I can't help thinking!" she said. "It seems so frightful. If anybody had been bitten, how soon would he be safe?"
"The disease generally develops in a few days or weeks. It might even be as long as a year; but this is rare. Not longer, I believe."
"Then one would not feel sure till after a whole year! What a frightful year that would be! Oh, I am so glad nobody in Littleburgh has to look forward to it!"
"Time for Prayers now, Annie;" and his clear-cut pleasant face, only a shade paler than usual, smiled down on her. "Will you ring the bell?"
Annie obeyed, and the servants filed in, looking rather excited with the stories they had been hearing. Mr. Wilmot read a psalm, in place of the usual portion, and in his prayer he offered up earnest thanks for the many lives spared that day.
Then Annie said good-bye, and went off to bed, and Mr. Wilmot moved into his study.
A change once more passed over his face change from calm cheerfulness to deep depression. He leant back in the easy-chair, placed a hand over his eyes, and was silent.
The lamp burnt on by his side, and the house sank into profound stillness. All but himself had retired to rest.
Nearly an hour passed, and he had not stirred. The striking of the clock on the stairs aroused him. Eleven strokes, in slow musical succession.
Mr. Wilmot stood up, and went to the window. He drew aside one of the curtains, pulled up the blind, and gazed steadfastly at a starlit sky.