“He said something about it being the only reparation he could make you; but his voice was not very clear or distinct, and I could n't be sure I caught his words correctly.”
“Reparation! he owed me none.”
“Well, well, it is possible I may have mistaken him. One thing is plain enough; you cannot give me any clew to this seizure beyond the guess that it may have been some tidings he received by post.”
L'Estrange shook his head in silence, and after a moment said, “Is the attack serious?”
“Highly so.”
“And is his life in danger?”
“A few hours will decide that, but it may be days before we shall know if his mind will recover. Craythorpe has been sent for from Dublin, and we shall have his opinion this evening. I have no hesitation in saying that mine is unfavorable.”
“What a dreadful thing, and how fearfully sudden. I cannot conceive how he could have bethought him of the letter for me at such a moment.”
“He wrote it, he said, as you left him; you had not quitted the house when he began. He said to me, 'I saw I was growing worse, I felt my confusion was gaining on me, and a strange commixture of people and events was occurring in my head; so I swept all my letters and papers into a drawer and locked it, wrote the few lines I had promised, and with my almost last effort of consciousness rang the bell for my servant.'”
“But he was quite collected when he told you this?”