CHAPTER XXXVII. A STORMY MOMENT
Within a week after the first letter came a second from Cagliari. It was but half a dozen lines from Tom himself.
“They are sending me off to a place called Maddalena, dearest Lucy, for change of air The priest has given me his house, and I am to be Robinson Crusoe there, with an old hag for Friday,—how I wish for you! Sir Brook can only come over to me occasionally. Look out for three rocks—they call them islands—off the N. E. of Sardinia; one of them is mine.—Ever your own,
“Tom L.”
Lucy hastened down with this letter in her hand to her grandfather's room, but met Mr. Haire on the stairs, who whispered in her ear, “Don't go in just yet, my dear; he is out of sorts this morning; Lady Lendrick has been here, and a number of unpleasant letters have arrived, and it is better not to disturb him further.”
“Will you take this note,” said she, “and give it to him at any fitting moment? I want to know what I shall reply,—I mean, I 'd like to hear if grandpapa has any kind message to send the poor fellow.”
“Leave it with me. I 'll take charge of it, and come up to tell you when you can see the Judge.” Thus saying, he passed on, and entered the room where the Chief Baron was sitting. The curtains were closely drawn, and in one of the windows the shutters were closed,—so sensitive to light was the old man in his periods of excitement. He lay back in a deep chair, his eyes closed, his face slightly flushed, breathing heavily, and the fingers of one hand twitching slightly at moments; the other was held by Beattie, as he counted the pulse. “Dip that handkerchief in the cold lotion, and lay it over his forehead,” whispered Beattie to Haire.
“Speak out, sir; that muttering jars on my nerves, and irritates me,” said the Judge, in a slow firm tone.
“Come,” said Beattie, cheerfully, “you are better now; the weakness has passed off.”
“There is no weakness in the case, sir,” said the old man, sitting bolt upright in the chair, as he grasped and supported himself by the arms. “It is the ignoble feature of your art to be materialist. You can see nothing in humanity but a nervous cord and a circulation.”