‘Tut, tut,’ returned the locksmith, rubbing his hands and warming them. ‘You women are such talkers. What of the patient, neighbour?’
‘He is sleeping now. He was very restless towards daylight, and for some hours tossed and tumbled sadly. But the fever has left him, and the doctor says he will soon mend. He must not be removed until to-morrow.’
‘He has had visitors to-day—humph?’ said Gabriel, slyly.
‘Yes. Old Mr Chester has been here ever since we sent for him, and had not been gone many minutes when you knocked.’
‘No ladies?’ said Gabriel, elevating his eyebrows and looking disappointed.
‘A letter,’ replied the widow.
‘Come. That’s better than nothing!’ replied the locksmith. ‘Who was the bearer?’
‘Barnaby, of course.’
‘Barnaby’s a jewel!’ said Varden; ‘and comes and goes with ease where we who think ourselves much wiser would make but a poor hand of it. He is not out wandering, again, I hope?’
‘Thank Heaven he is in his bed; having been up all night, as you know, and on his feet all day. He was quite tired out. Ah, neighbour, if I could but see him oftener so—if I could but tame down that terrible restlessness—’