“I feared I might prove an intruder, seeing the doctor here. Is it true what my servant says, that Kilgoff is dangerously ill?”
Cashel nodded.
“Poor fellow! he has no command over himself in those paroxysms of passion, which his folly and vanity are so constantly stirring up. But is the case serious?”
“He will scarcely recover, sir,” said Tiernay; “and it was because my functions as a physician can be of so little benefit, that I ventured to offer my services as a friend in the case, and give some counsel as to what should be done.”
“Most considerate, indeed,” said Linton, but in an accent at once impossible to say whether ironical or the reverse.
“I said, sir,” resumed Tiernay, “that it would be becoming that no false representation should obtain currency as to the origin of the illness, nor that a momentary excitement of a feeble intellect should be assumed as the settled conviction of a sound mind. My Lord Kilgoff has had something like altercation with his wife, and being a weak and failing man, with breaking faculties, has been seized with a paralytic attack.”
“Very thoughtful, all this,” said Linton, gravely; “pray command me in any part of your plan where I may be serviceable.”
“The plan is this,” said Cashel: “here is a case where a terrible calamity has befallen, and which can be made worse only by calumny. To make the slanderer pay the heaviest penalty of his infamy—”
“Nay, nay; this is not our plan,” said Tiernay, gently. “Lord Kilgoff's attack must be spoken of without connection with any circumstances which preceded it this evening. Nothing was more likely to occur than such a seizure; his age, his late illness, his peculiar habit, all predisposed to it.”
“Just so,” interposed Cashel, hastily; “and as none, save you, Linton, and myself, know anything of the matter, it need never gain wider publicity.”