CHAPTER XXV. MARION'S AMBITIONS
Colonel Bramleigh's malady took a strange form, and one which much puzzled his physicians. His feverish symptoms gradually disappeared, and to his paroxysms of passion and excitement there now succeeded a sort of dreary apathy, in which he scarcely uttered a word, nor was it easy to say whether he heard or heeded the remarks around him. This state was accompanied by a daily increasing debility, as though the powers of life were being gradually exhausted, and that, having no more to strive for or desire, he cared no more to live.
The whole interest of his existence now seemed to centre around the hour when the post arrived. He had ordered that the letter-bag should be opened in his presence, and as the letters were shown him one by one, he locked them, unopened and unread, in a despatch-box, so far strictly obedient to the dictates of the doctor, who had forbidden him all species of excitement. His family had been too long accustomed to the reserve and distance he observed towards them to feel surprised that none were in this critical hour admitted to his confidence, and that it was in presence of his valet, Dorose, the letters were sorted and separated, and such as had no bearing on matters of business sent down to be read by the family.
It was while he continued in this extraordinary state, intermediate, as it seemed, between sleeping and waking, a telegram came from Sedley to Augustus, saying, “Highly important to see your father. Could he confer with me if I go over? Reply at once.” The answer was, “Unlikely that you can see him; but come on the chance.”
Before sending off this reply, Augustus had taken the telegram up to Marion's room, to ask her advice in the matter. “You are quite right, Gusty,” said she; “for if Sedley cannot see papa, he can certainly see Lord Culduff.”
“Lord Culduff,” cried he, in amazement “Why, what could Lord Culduff possibly know about my father's affairs? How could he be qualified to give an opinion upon them?”
“Simply on the grounds of his great discrimination, his great acuteness, joined to a general knowledge of life, in which he has admittedly few rivals.”
“Grant all that; but here are special questions, here are matters essentially personal; and with all his Lordship's tact and readiness, yet he is not one of us.”
“He may be, though, and very soon, too,” replied she, promptly.
“What do you mean?” asked he, in a voice of almost dismay.