"You are very welcome."
The maid entered the room with a tray, which she placed on a table; the doctor threw open the window, saying, "Nothing like fresh air. Come, let us fall to."
Basil was much taken with him; he was a man of culture and refinement, and knew what he was about. As they proceeded with their breakfast he entertained Basil with light and agreeable conversation, and it was only when the meal was finished that he reverted to the subject of his professional visit.
"Has your mother," he inquired, "during late years endured privation?"
"I have been absent from England for a great many years," replied Basil evasively.
"And if she had," continued the doctor, "she would conceal it from you! it is in the nature of such women. But I am led to this belief by her condition; it is not only that she is suffering from the reaction of overtaxed endurance, but that she has no reserve strength to draw upon."
It was clear to Basil that he believed her case to be serious, and in great anxiety he accompanied the doctor to the sickroom. There were two beds in the room, one occupied by Mrs. Chaytor, the other by her husband. Mr. Chaytor was dozing, and Basil, gazing upon him, saw a white and wasted face, long drawn and thin as that of a man whose sands of life were fast running out. Mrs. Chaytor cast a look of reproach upon the doctor, as she murmured:
"You should not have told him, you should not have told him!"
"He was up and dressed, my dear lady," said the doctor softly, "when I went in to see him. You must trust me to do what's best for all of you."
"I will, I will," murmured Mrs. Chaytor. "You have restored my dear son to health. O, Newman, Newman!"