CHAPTER XXXIX. WITH DOCTORS
On the evening of the same day, Sir Within sat alone in his grand old dining-room. The servants had withdrawn and left him in solitary splendour, for the massive plate glittered on the sideboard, and the blaze of many wax-lights illuminated the three or four great pictures of Rubens’ on the walls, and sparkled over the richly-cut glass that figured amongst the desert, and there, amidst all, sat that old man—pale, wan, and careworn—to all seeming several years older than one short week ago. A small table at his side was littered with letters and law papers; but though he had gone for them to his study, he never noticed them, so deeply was his mind bent on other thoughts. At last he looked at his watch, and then arising, he rang the bell.
“Doctor Price is still above stairs?” said he, in a tone of inquiry.
“Yes, Sir Within.”
“And you are quite certain you told him to come to me before he left the Castle?”
“Yes, Sir Within.”
“That will do,” said he, with a sigh.
Scarcely had the servant closed the door than he re-opened it to announce Doctor Price, a small pock-marked sharp-featured man, with an intensely keen eye, and a thin compressed mouth.
“Well, Doctor, well?” said Sir Within, as he came forward towards him with a manner of great anxiety.