“Believe me, I would do anything I honestly could to relieve your anxiety. But in this I have a higher duty.”
“What duty?”
“Silence!” As he spoke the word, the strong mouth closed like a steel trap.
We all remained silent for a few minutes. In the intensity of our thinking, the silence became a positive thing; the small sounds of life within and without the house seemed intrusive. The first to break it was Miss Trelawny. I had seen an idea—a hope—flash in her eyes; but she steadied herself before speaking:
“What was the urgent subject on which you wanted to see me, knowing that my Father was—not available?” The pause showed her mastery of her thoughts.
The instantaneous change in Mr. Corbeck was almost ludicrous. His start of surprise, coming close upon his iron-clad impassiveness, was like a pantomimic change. But all idea of comedy was swept away by the tragic earnestness with which he remembered his original purpose.
“My God!” he said, as he raised his hand from the chair back on which it rested, and beat it down with a violence which would in itself have arrested attention. His brows corrugated as he went on: “I quite forgot! What a loss! Now of all times! Just at the moment of success! He lying there helpless, and my tongue tied! Not able to raise hand or foot in my ignorance of his wishes!”
“What is it? Oh, do tell us! I am so anxious about my dear Father! Is it any new trouble? I hope not! oh, I hope not! I have had such anxiety and trouble already! It alarms me afresh to hear you speak so! Won’t you tell me something to allay this terrible anxiety and uncertainty?”
He drew his sturdy form up to his full height as he said:
“Alas! I cannot, may not, tell you anything. It is his secret.” He pointed to the bed. “And yet—and yet I came here for his advice, his counsel, his assistance. And he lies there helpless.... And time is flying by us! It may soon be too late!”