“She has been up all night, sir, and only just lain down.”
“Don't disturb her, then. I will write a line to her, and you can give it when she awakes.”
He went into the library, and wrote: “Sir William is better, but not out of danger. It is even more important now than before that he have perfect quiet. I will change the nurse, and meanwhile I desire that you alone should enter the room till I return.”
“What letter was that the doctor gave you as he went away?” said Sewell, who during Beattie's visit had been secretly on the watch over all that occurred.
“For my mistress, sir,” said the girl, showing the note.
Sewell snatched it impatiently, threw his eyes over it, and gave it back. “Tell your mistress I want to see her when she is dressed. It's nothing to hurry for, but to come down to my room at her own convenience.”
“Better, but not out of danger! I should think not,” muttered he, as he strolled out into the garden.
“What is the meaning of stationing old Haire at the bedside? Does Beattie suspect? But what could he suspect? It would be a very, convenient thing for me, no doubt, if he would die; but I 'd scarcely risk my neck to help him on the way. These things are invariably discovered; and it would make no difference with the law whether it was the strong cord of a vigorous life were snapped, or the frail thread of a wasted existence unravelled. Just so; mere unravelling would do it here. No need of bold measures. A good vigorous contradiction,—a rude denial of something he said,—with a sneer at his shattered intellect, and I 'd stake my life on it his passion would do the rest. The blood mounts to his head at the slightest insinuation. I 'd like to see him tried with a good round insult. Give me ten minutes alone with him, and I 'll let Beattie come after me with all his bottles; and certainly no law could make this murder. Bad-tempered men are not to be more carefully guarded by the State than better-natured ones. It would be a strange statute that made it penal to anger an irascible fellow. I wonder if some suspicion of this kind has crossed Beattie's mind? Is it for that Haire has been called to keep the watch on deck,—and if so, who is to replace him? He'll tire at last,—he must sleep some time; and what are they to do then? My wife, perhaps. Yes; she would play their game willingly enough. If she has heard of this will, it will alarm her. She has always tried to have the children provided for. She dreads—she 's not so wrong there—she dreads leaving everything in my power. And of late she has dared to oppose me openly. My threat of suing for a divorce, that used to keep her so submissive once, is failing now. Some one has told her that I could not succeed. I can see in her manner that her mind is reassured on this score. She could have no difficulty in filching an opinion,—this house is always full of lawyers; and certainly nothing in the habits of the place would have imposed any restraint in discussing it.” And he laughed—actually laughed—at the conceit thus evoked. “If I had but a little time before me now, I should work through all my difficulties. Only to think of it! One fortnight, less perhaps, to arrange my plans, and I might defy the world. This is Tuesday. By Thursday I shall have to meet those two acceptances for three hundred and two hundred and fifty. The last, at all events, I must pay, since Walcott's name was not in his own handwriting. How conscientiously a man meets a bill when he has forged the endorsement!” And again he laughed at the droll thought. “These troubles swarm around me,” muttered he, impatiently. “There is Fossbrooke, too. Malevolent old fool, that will not see how needless it is to ruin me. Can't he wait,—can't he wait? It's his own prediction that I'm a fellow who needs no enemy; my own nature will always be Nemesis enough. Who's that?—who is there?” cried he, as he heard a rustling in the copse at his side.
“It's me, your honor. I came out to get sight of your honor before I went away,” said O'Reardon, in a sort of slavish cringing tone.
“Away! and where to?”