"Yes, it is—all mine, all mine!" And then, with a sudden suspicion, "Do you intend to dispute it?"
"Heaven forbid! What is it to do with me—except that when you speak of ruin to me, and of not being able to afford a doctor, you are speaking what is false. Why did you marry?"
"I don't know," he replied, wringing his hands, "I don't know. I ought never to have done it. I ought to have lived alone, with nobody to keep but myself."
"It would have been better for my poor sister. But she is your wife, and I shall not allow her to suffer as she is suffering without seeking medical assistance. I have never been in this neighbourhood, and know nothing about it. Where is the nearest doctor?"
"I can't tell you; I am almost as much a stranger here as you are."
"There must be one not very far off. Who was the lad who opened the door for me when I came to-night?"
"My servant, Tom Barley. What do you want him for? He is asleep by this time. He has work to do the first thing in the morning."
"Where does he sleep?"
"Outside; in the stable."
"I shall find it. You must write a few words on paper for me."