“It is useless, Hardcastle,” said Mr. Warden, when he heard the order given. “No doctor can do anything for me now. Let them get me a few tonics, which I can prescribe for myself, so that I may rally for a few days, and pay a visit to my old home here. Open the window,” he added impetuously, “this soft, sweet air brings life back to me.”
Then Hardcastle placed for him a low easy chair close to the casement, whence he could look right and left upon the mountain panorama, and even catch a glimpse of a turret of his old chateau standing high among the distant rocks.
Mr. Warden gazed long and earnestly upon the magnificent landscape, drinking in every sight and sound, as a dying man might gaze upon some loved scene whose memory he wished to carry with him into eternity. Lord Hardcastle dared not disturb him, he leaned over the back of his chair without a word, and endeavoured, as far as possible, to follow the train of his thoughts.
Suddenly Mr. Warden turned his head and looked Hardcastle full in the face. He spoke excitedly, and his voice appeared almost to have regained its old strength and firmness.
“Hardcastle,” he said “you have done a great deal for me, I know you will do one thing more. It may be the last favour I shall ask of you. Come here, stand at my right. You see, just between those sugarloaf crags, the west turrets of my old home—the Chateau D’Albiac it was called in those days. It stands on the highest ground in Cassagnac. A little to the right there is a low well-cultivated valley, with about five or six peasants’ houses dotted here and there. In one of these Isola’s people lived, and there my darling Aimée was reared as her foster-child. Will you go there for me, and if you can find her, bring her here to me. I have one or two questions to ask, which she only can answer.”
“Gladly,” replied Hardcastle. “It has been my intention from the first to seek this woman out and question her. As soon as the doctor arrives, I will leave you in his charge, and set off without further delay.”
“No,” said Mr. Warden decisively, “you must set off at once; you do not know these mountain paths as I do, and to a stranger they are full of difficulties and dangers. Cassagnac is nearly six miles from here. You laugh at the distance. Five miles of these mountain paths is no light thing, I can assure you. If you start at once on one of the little mountain ponies, you will not arrive at Cassagnac till nearly sunset. Then you will have at least three miles further to go before you can get a night’s lodging, for you cannot possibly by any means return here until to-morrow.”
“Until to-morrow,” echoed Hardcastle sadly, and the thought flashed through his brain “what if he be not here to-morrow?”
Mr. Warden read his thoughts, “It is not so near as that Hardcastle,” he said quietly; “but it is not far away. Go at once, I implore you, for days and hours are getting precious to me now. Your doctor will be here before long; the people of the house are good and kind, and I feel at home with them. Go at once, I beg of you; let me not feel I have had my journey here for nothing. Ah! if my young strength would come back to me for one day, how gladly would I set off with you!” Then he leaned back in his easy chair wearied out, and once more begging Hardcastle to start immediately, closed his eyes as though he wished to sleep.
Hardcastle had no choice but to obey. He went at once to the innkeeper and his wife, and gave them strict orders to be constantly in and out of Mr. Warden’s room during his absence, and one to remain with him throughout the night. Then he wrote a few lines to the doctor, requesting him to remain until his return on the morrow. Even with these precautions his heart misgave him, and he could scarcely summon courage to start on his journey.