“You will tell her I am here?” said Harry.
“Of course,” replied Mrs. Maylie.
“And say how anxious I have been, and how much I have suffered, and how I long to see her. You will not refuse to do this, mother?”
“No,” said the old lady; “I will tell her all.” And pressing her son’s hand, affectionately, she hastened from the room.
Mr. Losberne and Oliver had remained at another end of the apartment while this hurried conversation was proceeding. The former now held out his hand to Harry Maylie; and hearty salutations were exchanged between them. The doctor then communicated, in reply to multifarious questions from his young friend, a precise account of his patient’s situation; which was quite as consolatory and full of promise, as Oliver’s statement had encouraged him to hope; and to the whole of which, Mr. Giles, who affected to be busy about the luggage, listened with greedy ears.
“Have you shot anything particular, lately, Giles?” inquired the doctor, when he had concluded.
“Nothing particular, sir,” replied Mr. Giles, colouring up to the eyes.
“Nor catching any thieves, nor identifying any house-breakers?” said the doctor.
“None at all, sir,” replied Mr. Giles, with much gravity.
“Well,” said the doctor, “I am sorry to hear it, because you do that sort of thing admirably. Pray, how is Brittles?”