“I did not say so, Sir; I don’t think any man would go so far; for it will be tedious, and consequently precarious. And there are now and then recoveries that can scarcely be called benefits. How many miles do you call it to Wrexham?”
“You speak of the effects upon the brain—the permanent effects?” said Sir Within, with trembling eagerness.
“Brain or membranes, I don’t think it signifies much which. And Wrexham—how far is it?”
“Your postboy will tell you, Sir; this case is of much more moment to me.”
Sir Henry turned a full steady look on the old envoy, as though he were contemplating an order of being wholly new and strange to him; and then turning to the housekeeper, who still stood at his side, said: “Stop the ice—apply mere cold water; don’t talk to her, and no more Irish—take care of that—no more Irish. Good night, Sir Within;” and stepping hastily down the steps, he entered his carriage and drove away.
“What did he mean by that last direction, no more Irish, Mrs. Simcox?” asked Sir Within.
“La, Sir, it was about a thing that happened last night;” and she recounted the incident, at somewhat greater length than we have given it.
“Send the girl to me,” said Sir Within, as she finished; “let me speak to her in the library.”
The interview lasted about half an hour, and at the end of it Molly was seen to hasten to her room, pack her clothes, and descend to the stable-yard, where a conveyance was in waiting for her.
“This is a hasty way to leave us, Molly,” said one of her fellow-servants, as she mounted the cart.