“How cautious you are! Will you promise? It is for your good and for mine.”
“In that case I will promise.”
“Promise me that, if you want any kind of help in your work, you will send for me.”
“I promise.”
I did not see him for the whole of those two years. I wrote: he did not reply. I called: he would not leave his study to see me. It was useless being offended with him. I waited.
Then one day I had a telegram:—
“Come at once if you can.”
I jumped into a hansom, and half an hour later was seated in the dear old museum once more, beside the great log fire, which burned cheerfully in the grate. I had said nothing when first I saw Hugh. I was too much shocked at his altered, emaciated appearance: he looked like his own ghost, wandering about among the mummies. I could see that he was terribly excited: he was pacing about the room, muttering strange and incoherent words. For a moment I had feared that his reason had begun to give way under the terrible strain of absorbing brain work.
“It was good of you to come, Mark.”
“I was only too happy that you sent for me, old Girlie,” I said sadly.